


Whispers In The Dark: Zarry Drabbles III

by StormDancer



Series: One Direction Drabbles [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 51,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my Zarry drabbles, AU ideas, and other snippets, originally posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of some of the Zarry drabbles I've written on Tumblr. Some of them will be long, some short; some won't even be proper drabbles at all, just summaries of what I would write. Mostly unbetaed, so there very well could be some typos, sorry. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_**Prompt: Zayn is a siren, Harry's a merman. they fall in love.** _

Zayn’s just finished singing for the day when there’s a stirring in the water next to him, and a second later Harry pops up, his hair pooling around his shoulders as he emerges. “Boo!”

“I’m so scared,” Zayn drawls. Or he tries to. His voice is a bit hoarse, from singing all day, so he clears his throat, then tries again. “Eek!”

Harry juts out his lip, and Zayn can see his tail twitch through the crystal clear water of the pool. It’s not the side where the rocks are, the dangerous side; this pool can only be gotten to through the underwater caves, so it’s calm and perfect. “You could at least play along.”

“Think that’s what I was doing, babe.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he boosts himself out of the water anyway, pulling himself up onto the rocks. Zayn watches with interest as Harry’s arm muscles work. His tail’s gorgeous and all, but Zayn is also very fond of how much upper body strength swimming everywhere has given Harry. “Come here, then.”

Zayn rolls his own eyes, but he stretches out his wings for a second, just to get Harry’s own gaze to follow them, and drifts down to settle next to Harry. He folds his wings back into him, then leans over to press a kiss to Harry’s lips. “How was your day?”

“Good, sort of slow. Not many ships, only got a few sailors. Yours?”

Zayn shrugs. “They’ve been learning. Had a whole group of them with stuffed ears. I’m not going to meet my quota, at this rate.”

“You’ll be fine. No one can resist your voice.” As if to underscore the point, Harry presses his lips to Zayn’s throat.

“I don’t know. You might have to take care of me when all the sailors get wise and the bosses fire me because no one can hear them.”

“I’ll sneak up and take out all their ear plugs,” Harry promises, and Zayn grins. “Or if that doesn’t work, I’ll just keep you in sailors here. Lure them up here for you.”

“You’re so generous.”

“I know.” Harry dimples at him, and Zayn has to kiss him then, because he looks so pleased with himself. Harry’s tail splashes in the water, clearly happy with this turn of events. “You’ll still have to sing for your supper, of course,” Harry goes on, when Zayn’s done with him. He’s still smirking a little. “Just, it’d only be for me.”

“My favorite audience,” Zayn agrees, and strokes a finger over the top of Harry’s tail. It makes Harry shiver happily. “I’ll start paying you back now.”

“Good.” Harry reaches around him to run a hand down his wings, and Zayn’s the one who feels it everywhere. “Now stop talking about work, and kiss me properly.”


	2. Chapter 2

_**Prompt: Oh, jeez, IT'S A CORPSE!** _

Harry snorts despite himself. “You said you’d be game.”

“I am.” Zayn studies the corpse with eyebrows raised enough Harry can see him in the darkness of the haunted house. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you’re here.” Harry doesn’t comment when Zayn grabs his hand, interlaces their fingers. “You’re very forgiving of the haunted house.”

“I know. Fuck!” Zayn jumps, as someone dressed as a zombie jumps out at them from the side. Harry, because he is a good boyfriend, doesn’t say anything when Zayn holds Harry’s hand tighter as they go into the next room. “Why did you even want to go here?”

“Because it’s what you do at a carnival,” Harry explains. Zayn being cute when he’s trying to pretend he’s not jumpy and a bit afraid is just a bonus, as is how Zayn is pressing close against him. But he knows Zayn, and knows if he ever pointed it out Zayn would deny it completely.

“It’s stupid.”

“And you aren’t afraid?”

“No.” Something creaks, and Zayn and Harry both start, but Zayn’s suddenly in Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s hand almost painful with how hard Zayn’s holding it. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry wraps his arm around Zayn’s shoulders, because he is a good boyfriend and Zayn would never ever ask for it. This is a scary haunted house he will admit. And maybe he did know how freaked out Zayn gets in haunted houses sort of situations. it might not be the nicest of him, but it’s cute, how his boyfriend, who people who don’t know him think is all badass biker chic, gets on edge in a haunted house that isn’t even a great haunted house. “We can go faster.”

“I’m fine, and shut up.” Zayn makes a sound he’d probably deny forever is a squeak at a vampire, and hides his head in Harry’s shoulder. Harry’d be lying if he said he didn’t like these moments, when he gets to take care of Zayn, because so often Zayn’s the one saving him. It’s sort of nice for a change, to be the one Zayn’s clutching on to.

Something else jumps out at them, and this time it definitely is a squeak, as Zayn jolts into Harry. Harry can feel him shaking. “Okay, let’s go.”

“I told you, I’m–”

“Well, I’m scared,” Harry announces. He might even be, if he was paying more attention to the house and less to Zayn. “So you need to get me out of here.”

Zayn takes a deep breath, and Harry can see him pulling himself back together, for Harry. Sometimes Harry loves him so much he can’t breathe for it, this boy who’s terrified until he needs not to be. Who can put aside his own fear to make sure Harry’s okay. Harry can save his pride some, in return. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Thanks.” Before they get all the way out, Harry pulls Zayn close, kisses him hard, long enough that Zayn comes away dazed and smiling.

“What was that for?”

Harry shrugs. “For humoring me.”

Zayn smiles, big and wide, and if he’s still holding too hard to Harry’s hand Harry’s not going to say anything. “Always.”


	3. Chapter 3

_**Prompt: "Okay, I can't like my elbow. But, I can lick yours."** _

“That wasn’t the bet!” Liam protests, but Harry’s already moving, then he’s tackled Zayn, knocking him back off the beanbag he’s been lounging on so that his back hits the floor. Zayn’s pretty sure he could flip them over, but he’s laughing too hard, drunk and a bit high. Liam’s still protesting Niall’s throwing something at someone and Louis’s cackling, and Zayn doesn’t think it could get any better than this.

Harry crawls up his body, then he’s grabbing his arm, and his tongue flicks out, wet on Zayn’s skin, and Zayn giggles, curling in, half-heartedly trying to pull his arm away as Harry licks his elbow. Harry grins at him from behind his arm, his hair messy and his eyes dancing, keeping eye contact as he drags his tongue up Zayn’s skin again–and suddenly it isn’t funny any more. Suddenly, Harry is lying on top of Zayn, pinning him down with his tongue on Zayn, and Zayn swallows, hard. Now is not the time for boners. Even if he’s imagined this more than he should, Harry on his lap–though admittedly, there’s usually not three other boys laughing at them in his dreams.

Harry must see something change in Zayn, must notice that he’s stopped laughing, because his brow furrows and he pulls his mouth away from Zayn–fucking hell his mouth was on Zayn, Zayn is far too drunk for this.

“You okay?”

“He’s fine.” Louis announces. Zayn’s pretty sure there’s a note in his voice that means he knows exactly what’s happening, but Zayn can’t look anywhere but at Harry. He knows it isn’t anything, that what happens next isn’t going to be what he’s dreamed, but he can’t look away.

“Zayn?” Harry’s voice is soft, questioning, and it’s not helping even a little. It’s a tone he might use before–no. No, Zayn can’t think about that, because he is not going to get hard when Harry’s on top of him, he couldn’t face anyone ever again. He’s not going to, because he has willpower.

“I’m fine.” Zayn manages to choke out, but he knows he sounds hoarse. Harry still hasn’t looked away from him, and he is still sitting on Zayn and there is going to be a real problem if he doesn’t move soon. He either needs to move, or to lean down and kiss Zayn so Zayn will know it’s a dream, because in his dreams this usually ends with them back in this position except they’re both a lot more naked. “You proved your point.”

“He didn’t, actually,” Liam points out. “He still lost the bet.”

That gets Harry’s attention. He twists–still straddling Zayn, fuck–to glare at Liam. “I licked an elbow! I think that counts.”

“The dare was to lick your own elbow, not any elbow.”

“Fine.” Harry sticks out his lower lip, and finally, finally, climbs off of Zayn to go back to his seat and get his beer so he can drink his forfeit. Zayn sits up as soon as he’s gone, definitely not watching Harry’s ass as he crawls away, and grabs his own drink. He needs to be much drunker. Needs to be so much drunker he will forget about this and he won’t remember he has actual physical memory of what Harry straddling his hips feels like.

He finishes chugging what’s left of his beer, and reaches over for another one, when he looks at Harry again, because he apparently doesn’t have willpower and can’t help it. Harry’s settled back in his chair, as Liam and Louis bicker about some new dare, and he’s just–he’s looking at Zayn again, and there’s something considering in it, something Zayn doesn’t want to face.

He raises his new beer in Harry’s direction, toasts, then takes another long drink, and pretends he doesn’t feel Harry’s eyes on him still, pretends he isn’t going to dream about this for nights.

“Zayn! I dare you to sit on Harry’s lap for the next half hour!”

Or he’s just going to kill Louis. That seems like a solid alternate plan.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Prompt: "He's so bad but he does it so well"** _

“Shut up,” Harry hisses. Louis cackles, but doesn’t stop humming. “He’s going to hear you!”

“Because your staring is super subtle,” Niall points out. Harry pointedly ignores him. He is subtle. He is very subtle. Or, he probably isn’t, but Hot Leather Jacket Guy hasn’t noticed him for the past three weeks Harry’s spent ogling him in the bakery, so he’s pretty sure he’s good. People that hot probably have plenty of people staring at them all the time, anyway.

“No, Harry’s staring is romantic. He’s going to seduce his bad boy with the power of laser eyes.”

“Shut up!” Harry repeats. “He’s coming!”

He is, walking from the table where he’d put his stuff towards the counter. No, it’s not a walk–it’s a swagger, all hips and shoulders. It makes Harry’s knees go a little weak, if he’s being honest, which he isn’t on principle. But how else is he supposed to react to a gorgeous man in a leather jacket covered with tattoos with the most perfect face Harry’s ever seen? He doesn’t have a choice, really. He’s always been weak for a bad boy.

Louis starts singing under his breath again, and dodges the elbow Harry tries to throw at him, but there just isn’t much time before Hot Leather Jacket Guy gets to the counter and Harry has to properly arrange himself into his most charming smile.

“Hi!” He grins as HLJG comes up to the counter. “What can I get for you?”

HLJG glances at Harry, and every time–his eyes are just that ridiculously gorgeous every time, big and dark-lined enough that Louis’s theorized he has to be wearing makeup. “Um. A black coffee, please. And one of the daily muffins.”

“Of course!” He’s always polite. Harry’s noticed that, despite the whole bad boy look, he’s always said please. He turns to get him the coffee, because of course Niall and Louis are being absolutely unhelpful and just watching. He manages not to fuck anything up getting the coffee, or the muffin, and sets them both on the counter. “That’ll be four-fifty.”

HLJG hands over his card. “You. Um. You weren’t here, yesterday.”

Harry nearly fumbles the card. “No, I had off to visit my sister–you noticed?”

“Sure. What am I supposed to do without my favorite barista?” HLJG takes his card back, and Harry’s pretty sure there’s a smirk there, which would make sense because he knows he’s red.

“Well. I’m here now.” Harry fusses with his hair as he gives the card back. “So no worries.”

“Happy to hear it, babe.” HLJG actually winks, as he turns to carry his coffee and pastry away, and shit. It shouldn’t work. But something about him makes it work.

“He’s so tall and handsome as hell,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear, and he jumps and stops staring as HLJG settles into his seat with the sketchpad he always has. “Or, he’s not actually very tall, is he?”

“I didn’t notice,” Harry tells him, as condescendingly as he can. Then he ruins it by adding, “He noticed me, though. He noticed I was missing.”

“Congratulations,” Niall agrees, then swears as ten people swarm in all at once.

It distracts Harry long enough that he forgets about HLJG for a while, because he does actually do his work occasionally. It’s only once that rush is done that Harry goes properly back to obsessing. He and HLJG just had the longest interaction they’d ever had. That means something. That is basically an invitation. HLJG had even initiated the conversation. He’d asked something personal about Harry. Or, if not personal, about more than just coffee. It means it’s Harry’s turn.

“I’m going to clear some tables,” Harry announces. Louis’s eyebrows fly up.

“We don’t clear tables.”

“We should start, then. It’d be good customer service.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Go seduce your bad boy with your dimples.”

“And hair,” Harry tells him. “Never forget the power of the hair.” He flips it over his shoulder, then takes a breath, and leaves the counter.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t have game. Harry has game. Harry has a lot of game. But HLJG is…intimidating. He’s gorgeous, and he’s just, well. He looks like he’s the brooding, dark type who reads Nietzsche and Dostoyevsky. He’s probably drawing something weird and abstract and deep. Maybe a bit of a tortured artist, too. It’s all very intimidating, because Harry isn’t particularly tortured, nor is he particularly dark. He doesn’t always share everything, maybe that’ll be dark enough.

“Can I grab these?” he asks, and HLJG looks up from his sketchbook, his eyes wide with surprise. Wow, his eyes are big. Harry thinks he could get lost in them for ages.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” HLJG nods, and Harry reaches over him to grab his plate.

“So.” Harry steels himself, but he can do this. It’s his turn. At the least, he needs a name, so he stops thinking about him by initials. “What are you drawing?”

“Oh. Um. Like.” HLJG rubs at his ear, glancing away from Harry. Harry’d think it was part of his brooding, not wanting to look at Harry, but there’s something unsure about it. “It’s, like. A graphic novel.”

“Graphic novel?” Harry repeats. He doesn’t let his jaw drop, at least. That’s not what he was expecting.

“Yeah, like, superheroes, you know?” HLJG nods excitedly, and his hand waves as he talks, like he can’t contain his enthusiasm. “I’m trying to write one about minorities dealing with established superheroes prejudice…” HLJG trails off, and glances away again. Harry thinks he can see a flush on his cheeks. “Sorry. No one’s really interested.”

“I am!” Harry’s whole paradigm about him is shifting, but he likes this, too. When HLJG is maybe more awkward than brooding, more nerdy than dark. He glances at the counter, but there’s no one there–Louis and Niall are caught up in what looks like a game of bloody knuckles–and slides into the chair across from HLJG. “I am, really. Tell me.”

HLJG smiles shyly, looking at Harry through his lashes, and Harry doesn’t know how he ever thought he might be dangerous. He’s adorable. Harry’s in love. With this boy with the leather jacket exterior and the shy smiles. And Louis can shut the fuck up about it all.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Prompt: "Homoeroticism? Totally his thing. This is your chance."** _

“Just because his speciality is homoeroticism in musical theater doesn’t mean he’s gay,” Zayn hisses. Niall shrugs.

“Look at him.” Zayn follows his gaze to where Harry is sitting in the cafe, working on his laptop. He looks good, as always, his hair pulled up into a bun, his shirt a few buttons opened. Zayn’s still not sure how he got any work done this semester. “He’s definitely gay.”

“Niall. It doesn’t work like that.” Harry’s lifting his head, stretching; Zayn ducks behind his own book so he won’t see him. “And anyway. He’s my TA.”

“He was our TA,” Niall corrects. “As of this morning, you have your grades, so he is now just a hot grad student. Who definitely checked you out all the time in class, and is only a year older than you anyway. And who you have a perfect excuse to consult because you’re thinking of writing your thesis on his speciality!”

“But…” Zayn’s running out of excuses. Why does his best friend have to be so logical, and make him say that at the base, he’s scared? He’s not used to being nervous. But Harry’s older, and smart, and hot, and…Zayn’s still in college. What would he want with him?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Niall sighs, then makes a massive motion that knocks Zayn’s pile of books off the table and onto the floor with a bang. “Whoops!” Niall says, loudly, pointed in Harry’s direction. “My bad!”

Zayn drops his head to the table, but he knows it did what Niall meant it to, and now everyone’s looking at them. He doesn’t have to see to know what’s happening next–somehow, Niall is making eye contact with Harry. Grinning invitingly at him. Niall is the best wingman ever, and Zayn is going to kill him.

Sure enough, “Hey, Harry! Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy seeing you here,” Harry’s voice agrees, right over Zayn. “And…is Zayn asleep?”

There’s nothing for it now. Zayn lifts his head, trying to put on his coolest expression. “Hey, Harry.”

Harry is beaming at him, there’s no other word for it. It’s a lot. “Hi!” Harry keeps grinning, his other hand going up to play with his hair. “Everything okay here? Hope you’re not going to stone me because of your grades?”

“I passed, that’s all I was hoping for.” Niall shrugs. “Zaynie here aced everything. Because he’s brilliant.”

“I’m not surprised.” Harry bends down to look at the books Niall didn’t knock off the table. With the way his shirt is gaping open, Zayn can see his whole chest. “Getting started on your thesis, then? Which one of you is this for?”

“Me.” Zayn’s voice almost surprises him. He wasn’t aware he was going to talk. “I mean. Um. They’re mine. I’m seeing what sources there are for what I’m thinking of.”

“And what are you thinking of?” Harry’s still smiling at Zayn. He always seemed like a happy guy, in class; it’s probably just that. He probably smiles at everyone. He is definitely not looking at Zayn’s lips as he chews unconsciously on his bottom lip when he figures out an answer. Zayn must be imagining that.

“Actually, Zayn was thinking about asking you about that.” NIall ignores the hard kick Zayn aims at his shin. “Weren’t you, Zayn?”

“Were you?” Now Harry isn’t just smiling, he’s looking interested, and that’s so much worse. “What’s up?”

“Um. Like.” Zayn shakes his head. He knows words. He’s an english major, for fuck’s sake. “I’m thinking about writing on the homoeroticism in Fitzgerald, and it seemed like it was the sort of thing you might know something about?”

“That’s right up my alley!” Harry agrees, and there are his dimples. Zayn needs to hide under the table and never come out. “It sounds like a good topic, but I can poke around for you, find some starting places.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Zayn nods. There. That was a normal human interaction with Harry, no matter what Niall wanted it to be.

“And. Well.” The dimples are fading a little, and Harry’s fingers drum against his thigh. “Given you aren’t my student anymore…we could discuss it more, over dinner sometime? Or drinks?”

Zayn’s pretty sure his heart stops. If he was drinking something, he’d choke. He does surreptitiously pinch himself under the table, because never in a million years did he think Harry Styles would be asking him out, but he’s pretty sure that’s what happened.

“Um, just to be clear–you want to discuss homoeroticism over dinner?” Zayn’s voice is clear, he thinks. Maybe he can be smooth.

Harry doesn’t look away, just gives a lopsided smile. “If you want.”

“Then, yeah.” Zayn manages to meet Harry’s eyes, given him what he thinks is a credible smirk. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

This time it’s him who ignores Niall’s celebratory shin kick, as Harry gives him his number.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Prompt: You and your soulmate can communicate with thoughts and your soulmate happens to be a math major and you really need help with this test right now.** _

_I’m not asking you to cheat._

Harry rolls his eyes at his notebook, but he can’t help the smile that creeps over his face. It’s only been a few weeks since they manifested, not long that the sound of Zayn in his head doesn’t make him thrill, a little. And he thinks even if it had been forever, he would still smile, at hearing Zayn’s voice. He likes Zayn’s voice–his mental and his physical one. He thinks he’ll like how it’ll feel in person, too. Soon.

_Soon_ , Zayn echoes, and he must have caught the last bit of that thought. They’re still working on control, on boundaries. _But right now. You’re always saying how good you are at maths._

_I’m not doing your test for you._

_It’s not for me. It’s a consultation._

_It’s cheating._

_It’s helping me learn._ Harry makes a face down at the desk. Other people in the library are giving him weird looks, but he ignores them. It’s not that unusual to see someone having a silent conversation with the other half of their soul.

_than you should have asked me to help you study._

_I did! We got…distracted_. Harry knows he turns red. The thing about mind-speak, as opposed to actual words, is that they can come with emotions, and he and Zayn had been…experimenting. With that. A little. Just until they were actually on the same side of the country and could meet in person. _You don’t want me to fail this test and have to retake the course over the summer, do you?_

_You fight dirty, Malik._

_I do what I have to._ he can hear the smirk in Zayn’s voice. Harry has a bad feeling he’s always going to be weak for that.

_Do you really need help?_ He asks. Zayn needs to pass this, so he can come visit Harry, and Harry can actually touch him.

He feels Zayn sigh. _no. I’ll do it on my own. But if I fail, it’s all on you._

_You’re brilliant. You won’t fail._

_Says the maths major._ Zayn goes quiet for a moment, long enough Harry thinks he’s actually planning to do his test instead of wasting time talking to Harry, then, _Soon._

_Soon_ , Harry agrees, and he smiles as he goes back to his own work. Soon. Soon he’ll be able to touch Zayn. Soon they won’t have to mind-speak, because he’ll be able to hear his voice in person, and see if Harry will be as weak for him then as he is now.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Prompt: Zayn is performing from his book of poetry (at an open mic night or maybe a small indie bookstore if he's had a book published) and Harry's a fan who's been following Zayn's work. maybe Niall dares Harry to introduce himself.** _

“I’m not talking to him.” Harry steals another glance up at the front of the room, where Zayn Malik is sitting, writing something in a notebook. He’s wearing glasses today, his hair loose around his face, with a leather jacket on over his sweater, and Harry is afraid one time he’s going to look and never look away. “I can’t.” 

“Harry, he’s barely even published a book.” Niall nudges him with his elbow. “And this is the fourth event you’ve come to. I bet he recognizes you.” 

Harry can feel his face flush. “You think?” 

“Fucking hell.” Niall rolls his eyes, then grabs the book from Harry’s lap and shoves it into his hands. “Ask him to sign it. Then ask him to dinner. Or ask if he wants you to blow him under that table.” 

“Niall!” Harry doesn’t want to blow under that table. Or well, he does, but he wants to talk to him more, wants to hear everything in his head, wants to hear what makes him write this poetry with all its anger and sweetness and impotent yearning and determination. He wants to know what’s behind those dark eyes, the ones he stares into as Zayn reads. 

“Just do it,” Niall advises. “You’re Harry Styles. No one says no to you.” 

Zayn brushes a piece of hair back behind his ear, a careless, elegant gesture, and Harry’s mouth goes dry. “If this goes wrong, you’ll buy me ice cream?” 

“Sure. All the ice cream you can eat,” Niall promises, and shoves him again. “Now go.” 

Harry gets up. He shakes out his hair, then walks down the rows of half-empty seats to where Zayn’s sitting. He must make enough noise that Zayn looks up, and Harry briefly forgets words, in the face of actually meeting Zayn’s eyes. 

“Hi.” Harry’s fiddling with his hair, the stupid nervous gesture he can’t get over. “Um, I was just wondering, would you sign my book?” He thrusts it out in front of him. 

Zayn smiles, and Harry might sway a little on his feet, at how Zayn’s tongue peeks out from behind his teeth. “Yeah, of course! This is pretty sick, actually. Not sure anyone’s ever asked me to sign anything before.” 

“Really? But you’re so good!” Harry exclaims, then blushes again as Zayn tilts his head to look at him. 

“Thanks, bro.” He pulls out a pen, opens the book. “Um. Who should I, like, make it out to?” 

“Harry.” Zayn leans over the book. “You really are so good. Maybe people are just intimidated, by your face? Or they think you’re actually a rock star or something? It’s the only reason I can think of they wouldn’t want you to sign their books. You’re going to be massive someday.” And he’s rambling, because he does that when he’s nervous. Great. “Are you writing me a letter?”

“No, just.” Zayn makes that same gesture with his hair. “I don’t think I’ll be able not to blush if i look at you complimenting me like that.” 

Harry laughs, and Zayn looks up with a quick grin. Maybe he isn’t resistant to Harry Styles either, Harry thinks. He definitely doesn’t think he’ll need the ice cream. 


	8. Chapter 8

_**Prompt: The first time they talk on the phone after all this time since Zayn's left. Harry calls him and Zayn doesn't recognize the number.** _

“Hey, ‘s Zayn.”

“Hey.” 

Harry expects–well, something, but not the pause. Maybe yelling. Maybe cold, icy sarcasm, because Zayn might have gone into that part of his anger already. But not the hesitance. “Oh, fuck. Harry.” 

“You need to check your caller ID,” Harry says, for the thousandth time. It’s weirdly normal, the sort of thing he’s scolded Zayn for daily. 

“I, um. Did.”

Oh. Well, that’s great. “You really did just delete us from your life, didn’t you?” Harry says, before he thought. He never says anything before he thinks, not anymore, but Zayn’s always made him stupid. 

“You changed your number,” Zayn snaps, fast. “Was I supposed to hunt it down so i could keep calling you and not getting an answer?” 

Yes! Harry wants to yell. Yes, you were. You were supposed to keep trying because I just needed to know you would. Needed to know I was worth it to you. 

“I’m calling you now,” Harry says instead. 

“Yeah, I noticed.” Zayn’s voice is hard. “What do you want?” 

You. You back. To be something of what we were. “Can we meet up, sometime? I’m in LA.” 

“Not if you change your number on me again. Stand me up.” 

“Zayn,” Harry sighs, and he almost smiles, because it’s so Zayn, the defensiveness and the aggression and the fear beneath it all. “I just want to see you again.” 

He can hear Zayn’s breath. “I want to see you too,” He mutters, like it hurts to admit, but Harry smiles anyway. That’s all he needed to hear. 


	9. Chapter 9

_**Prompt: sharing an ice cream cone** _

“You’re dripping everywhere!” Zayn grabs the ice cream cone from Harry, who does, indeed, have ice cream all over his hands. 

“You didn’t complain last night,” Harry retorts, smirking, and lifts up his hand to suck the ice cream off, hollowing out his cheeks. 

Zayn’s gaze focuses, dark and hot, and Harry moves on to the next finger. 

“Yeah, well,” Zayn’s voice is a little hoarse. “That’s when I thought you could manage to eat an ice cream cone on your own.”

Harry’s not really offended, but he can eat an ice cream cone. “Yeah? Is there a better way to do it?”

Zayn doesn’t break eye contact as he raises the cone to his mouth. “It’s all about being good with your tongue,” he purrs, and Harry’s whole body goes up a few degrees as he watches. 

“Fuck, yeah, we’re not finishing that,” Harry declares, and grabs Zayn’s wrist. He needs somewhere private enough he can get that tongue on him, right now. 

“I could finish it off you,” Zayn suggests, and Harry’s mind whites out for a second before he tugs harder, Zayn laughing as he follows just as quickly. 


	10. Chapter 10

_**Prompt: spy/assassin au** _

  1. The first time Zayn sees Harry, it’s down the scope of a sniper rifle. 
  2. The first time Harry sees Zayn, they’re both in a ballroom, and Harry’s leaning over to whisper in the woman’s ear as his hand goes to her drink when he catches sight of him. It’s nothing clear about him that gives him away–just like recognizing like. A predator knows another predator. 
  3. By the third time, it’s getting ridiculous. Zayn considers complaining to his handler that they should really coordinate with the other agencies because there’s too much overlap in targets, but he likes to see this other assassin work, to see how he circles his prey, how he smiles and shows his feathers big and loud and they never see the deadly underneath. It’s a pleasure to watch. And Zayn’s pretty sure he’s getting a show. 
  4. He’s different from Harry. He moves like a big cat, sleek and graceful, but he puts Harry more in mind of a bird of prey, staying far away until he strikes. Harry doesn’t mind. After a while, it becomes almost comfort, having that other presence there, circling over him. He’s always worked best with an audience. And he likes to see the moment the falcon strikes. 
  5. The first time they speak, it’s when a bullet slides past Harry’s head into a guard, so close it could have killed him if he moved wrong. “You’re made,” Harry’s falcon says, rough and curt, the first time Harry’s heard his voice, and then Harry’s drawing his own gun and moving too. They get out without a hitch, though there’s chaos behind, and Harry knows that if he hadn’t been warned, things could have gone very badly. It’s the adrenaline he’ll blame later, for the way he grabs at him, how they kiss hard and fast, how they tumble into bed. But it’s more than that. 
  6. Harry returns the favor months later, drawing away attention from an unlucky shot with a loud laugh and some faux-drunken antics. This time, Zayn finds him after, thanks him by fucking him into the mattress of his hotel room. Like recognizes like, he thinks after, watching as Harry moves around the room, as he smiles at him, something not nearly so soft and open as the ones he gives his marks, one that Zayn could almost be foolish enough to believe. 
  7. It’s not love. There’s no love in this business, not when they both know they’re one command away from turning on each other. But sometimes, after they’ve washed the blood of their hands, Harry wonders. If one day, Zayn will shed his hood, if Harry will shake off his leash. If one day, they might fly free together. 




	11. Chapter 11

_**Prompt: The Bachelor AU where Zayn is the one looking for the "One" or America's Next Top Model AU where Harry is a model-judge who can't take his eyes off Zayn the contestant.** _

  1. Harry’s a director. it’s not his job to judge the talent, or to think about anything other than how they look best, how to tell the story best. He’s gotten good at that sort of disassociation working as assistant director on the Bachelor, because nothing jades you quite like reality TV. So yeah, the new bachelor on their first dual-gender edition is gorgeous. that just means better camera angles. And his great smile is just something to catch. 
  2. Zayn never expected to actually get chosen for the show. He’d applied mainly because Louis had dared him to, then kept going because he was convinced it was a joke and he wanted to see how far he could take it. Which was, apparently, all the way to this mansion, where he’s going to pick a bachelorette or bachelor out of the group they’ve assembled for him. And he’s going to be on TV. For weeks. Watching his every move. It’s enough to make anyone panic, and Zayn thinks that if he could get away from the cameras to run, he would. 
  3. Harry notices when the bachelor leans against a wall and looks like he’s about to faint, of course. It’s his job. It’s not entirely his job to get some water and go up to him, but he’s not entirely jaded yet, he supposes. But he really, really shouldn’t have, he decides later. If he hadn’t, he might never have seen Zayn’s smile, sheepish and thankful. Might never have heard Zayn mutter about how intimidating it is, how scared he is. Might never have started thinking about Zayn as a person, as a beautiful person with a lovely laugh who makes Harry laugh too before he’s called away. A beautiful person who it doesn’t matter if Harry likes him or not, because he’s got a whole slew of contestants competing for him and Harry isn’t one. 
  4. Not all the bachelor/bachelorettes are horrible. Some are, but some are quite nice, and friendly, and Zayn gets along with them. It’s just always weird, because they’re literally competing for him, and so they’re always so focused on him, but he can’t always react, and it’s just all so weird. It’s always a relief, to see Harry the nice-and-hot assistant there, to catch his eye and see Harry wink at him. To find him at the end of the day, after filming, and just be a person again, for a little while. And it’s easy with Harry, who knows when to be quiet and when to be loud. easier than with any of the contestants. 
  5. Harry is so, so very fucked. He knows it. But really, how was he not supposed to fall for the man with a gentle smile and a wicked laugh, whose touch sets him on fire? He’s a professional, though. He can film this man he’s falling for as he sets off on his life with someone else, and then he’ll go home and drown himself in wine and never look at magazines again. It’ll be simple. But it can’t hurt more than this, than watching Zayn on dates with other people, watching him flirt and kiss and touch them, and know it can’t be him there. 
  6. Apparently, it does great things for ratings when the bachelor gives the final rose to on of the assistant directors instead of one of the contestants. Especially when someone caught the look of incredulous joy on the AD’s face as the bachelor kissed him, and got the right zoom on how desperately his hand tightened on his shirt. 




	12. Chapter 12

_**Prompt: any new headcannons/things you havent really talked about before** _

1) Harry wakes up, and he’s a farmer. He remembers his real life, where he’s a pop star member of One Direction, but he remembers this life as well, and he’s a farmer. He farms organic vegetables, and Liam is his farmhand, but when Harry mentions One Direction he gets a blank stare. It’s the same for Zayn, when he comes, apparently the vet, to look at one of Harry’s cows. There’s no memory of what they were. 

2) A week later, Harry wakes up, and he’s a YSL model. A few days after that, an accountant in Minnesota. Again and again, all the different lives Harry could have had, and it’s fun at first, being all the different people he could be, but it’s tiring too. How he’s never quite himself. But it started magically, all at once, and Harry doens’t know how to end it. 

3) The one constant, though, is Zayn. Zayn’s always there, where the others cycle in and out, sometimes there, sometimes not. Zayn’s always there, like he isn’t any more in Harry’s real life. But every time Harry wakes up, Zayn’s present–-the designer whose clothes Harry models for, a reluctant student at Harry’s yoga studio, the guy who lives down the road. He’s always there, and there’s always that flutter, every time, that flutter Harry’s never been able to get rid of, no matter how mad he is at Zayn for leaving. It has to mean something. 

4)  He’s a elementary school teacher the first time he asks Zayn out, but he wakes up before the date can happen. He’s some sort of sugar baby when he tries to hook up with Zayn at a bar, but that doesn’t work. He’s a songwriter when he tries to just talk to Zayn, though, and that works. Talking to him. It’s still Zayn, even if this one is an aspiring singer who’s on the verge of being discovered. It’s still Zayn, and Harry might be talking around it but somehow it helps, remembering who Zayn is. Remembering who he is, and why that meant he had to leave. Remembering why he could never stop that flutter. 

5) He’s a photographer, and he catches a photo of Zayn with his head tilted upwards, the sun falling on his face. Harry thinks he knows this picture, thinks he’s seen it before in his world, but this time it’s his, and it gets him an introduction, and a date. They kiss on Zayn’s doorstep as Harry bids him goodnight, and it’s everything Harry’s ever wanted, the flutter going a mile a minute in his stomach, his heart beating out of his chest. 

6) He wakes up, and he’s a pop star in One Direction. Harry blinks, takes in the LA room. Then he rolls over, and grabs his phone. He needs to call Zayn. 


	13. Chapter 13

_**Prompt: coworkers AU** _

  1. Harry is running late, the first time he sees him. He usually likes to get to work early, to really get a jump on the day, but today through a number of circumstances he’s not there until 9:30, and it really sucks–until he sees the gorgeous guy in the elevator, looking great and just this side of business casual and sleep-eyed. Who happens, apparently, to get off on Harry’s floor. 
  2. It’s a little creepy, how suddenly whenever Zayn starts getting to work in the morning there are gifts on his desk–usually baked goods, or a flower, or something like that. they’re never signed, but Zayn can’t imagine they’re from more than one person. Niall, who works in the cube next to him, claims it has to be a secret admirer, and Zayn can’t see any reason to disagree. Louis, who works on Niall’s other side, says it’s probably the janitor. Which is also, Zayn, has to admit, a possibility. 
  3. It’s not stalking. Harry outlines that to Liam very clearly. He just happened to spot a very distinctive pair of cheekbones at a cube with the rest of the design folk. And maybe he’s been walking that way to go to the bathroom now, because then he can see as Zayn laughs with the coworkers on either side of him, can hear the mumble of his voice. And maybe he leaves him baked goods sometimes. And maybe this crush on a coworker he hasn’t even talked to is getting a little out of hand. But, Harry figures, it’s not hurting anyone. Not, that is, until the graphic designer is assigned to Harry’s project, and he’s got a very distinctive pair of cheekbones. 
  4. Zayn doesn’t understand why Harry’s treating him weirdly. They’re working together pretty closely on this project, even if usually Zayn doesn’t do this sort of stuff, and sometimes Harry’s great, fun and friendly and smart and a little flirty even. But sometimes he looks at Zayn like he’s frightened of him, and it’s a bit confusing. Especially because pretty soon, as the project snowballs into a shitshow that has them both staying late, it’s natural to start talking about their lives, and Zayn can feel himself getting a little crush on this fit man with the cheeky dimples, who bakes in his free time. And he finds himself telling harry things too, which is weirder; telling him about the gifts that are still there on his desk every morning. Harry doesn’t seem very interested in those, though, which Zayn takes as a bit of hope, maybe. Of something that could be jealousy?
  5. Zayn comes in early, the morning of their presentation. His cat was up all night anyway, and he couldn’t sleep, and he figured he might as well, even if normally it’s against everything he believes in to get to work before 9:30. So he’s just rounding the corner to his desk when he sees Harry there, and he’s ready to call out when he sees the muffin Harry’s putting on the desk. He can’t help the sound he makes, maybe pleased or shocked or horrified–and Harry jumps, spins, and his eyes widen and his cheeks go red when he sees Zayn seeing him. 
  6. Harry can’t help how it all comes pouring out of him, at Zayn’s wide-eyed stare. About his infatuation and his crush and how when he got to know Zayn properly it only got so much worse. He’s still talking, babbling really, because he’s not sure he has any excuse, when Zayn walks up to him, grabs the tie he’d worn in concession to the presentation today, and shuts him up with a kiss. 
  7. Zayn still comes in to a gift most mornings, because Harry likes to get a jump on his day and Zayn refuses to leave with him even if they’re going to the same place. But he thinks he repays him after work, pretty satisfactorily. 




	14. Chapter 14

_**Prompt: Tell me your lies because I just can't face it (Part[1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7558000/chapters/17192728))  ** _

“I love you.”

“I know,” Zayn retorts, laughing, young and free. He feels young and free right now, tucked against Harry’s side as they watch the sun set over the ocean, the air just warm enough around them that Harry has an excuse to wrap his arms around Zayn. Zayn’s not even pushing him away, which Harry takes as a good sign. It feels almost like they’re normal. Like Lily never died, like Harry’s dad didn’t fuck them both up.

“You can’t always get away with quoting Star Wars at me,” Harry pouts. Zayn chuckles, and snuggles back into Harry. Harry presses a kiss to the top of his head, grins into it. He loves Zayn like this, the Zayn only he gets now–well, him and Zayn’s dad and Backup, and maybe Louis or Niall. The Zayn that doesn’t have his long lens camera and a taser in his bag. Or rather, the one who put those away for now, to be with Harry.

“I can get away with quoting Star Wars at you for a pretty long time,” Zayn argues. “Or is your voicemail an actual message now?”

“My voicemail quotes are inspiring, I’ll have you know.”

“Sure, inspiring. Definitely what they are.” The sun’s inching below the horizon now. Soon, the lights will go down, and the dirty parts of Neptune will creep out, waking from where they hid during the day. Zayn will go out then too, a creature of that night, it’s vengeful angel, and Harry will follow because he can’t not, because Zayn Malik’s orbit holds him too tight. Or maybe because he’s a creature of that night too. He’s fucked up enough, in all sense of the words.

“Heey,” Harry complains, and Zayn tilts his head back to brush his lips against Harry’s jaw, like an apology. His lips are soft. They always are, deceptively so. “You find me very inspiring.”

“I find you very something.” It’s sharp. That’s Zayn though, sharp and sweet, and Harry never knows what to expect. It’s the excitement of Zayn, what catches him every time. So many contradictions in the most beautiful of bodies, and Harry can’t stop trying to figure him out, no matter how much he knows it’ll hurt.

“You find me inspiring.” Harry kisses at Zayn’s ear, then his cheek, wherever he can get. He’ll take as much as he can, in this bit of time when Zayn is just his, when he’s not off being Neptune’s own super hero, take the parts Zayn is giving him for right now. Zayn laughs, and tilts his head back so Harry has more room to kiss, his hands sliding from Zayn’s stomach down to his thighs. “You find parts of me inspiring, at least.”

“I might,” Zayn allows, and kisses Harry properly as the sun goes down, casting them in shadows.

Almost like it’s on cue, there’s a buzzing, and Zayn shifts away to answer his phone. “Liam? Yeah, you got it?” He gives Harry an apologetic smile, but it fades quickly into his pointed, concentrated look. His hunting look, Harry’s always thought of it as. The moment when Zayn becomes his own personal version of Truth, merciless and sure and certainly not posessable by anyone mortal.

Harry sighs, and loosens his hold. It’s easier to let go now, then to have Zayn pull away in a moment.

“Okay, great. I’ll meet you in twenty.” Zayn hangs up the phone, slips it back into his pocket, and stands up. Harry stays sitting, waiting. Waiting for Zayn to remember him. To remember he’s here. To remember there’s more to life than his quest, even though Harry’s not certain if he would love Zayn if he was someone who would remember that. “Bye. Thanks.”

Zayn runs a hand back through his hair. He’s all in shadows now, the tattoos on his arms clear as the light in his eyes. He’s an addict too, Harry knows, as addicted to the chase and the truth as Harry is addicted to him, and neither is healthy but at least Zayn’s is productive. Harry can only watch him, only watch and wish and imagine, for a second, that Zayn would ever care about him like he cared about his cases.

Finally, Zayn does look back down on him. Harry’s god, looking down on his devotee. “I’m sorry, I’ve–”

“Yeah, I got the picture.” Harry stretches luxuriously. Zayn doesn’t need to know that he cares. He’ll keep that much for himself, at least. “Give Liam a kiss from me.”

“I’m not sure which part of that would weird him out more.” Zayn pulls on his leather jacket, picks up his bag. It feels like he’s arming for battle.

“That’s the point.” Harry grins. “Call me if you’re done and horny.”

Zayn just looks at him for a long moment. Harry looks back, grinning as hard as he can. He will smile and let Zayn go. That can be who he is. He had his moment. Now it’s done.

“I love you,” Zayn offers, quiet in the night.

“Go catch a bad guy.” Harry smiles as he leaves. He’ll take the lie, tuck it in close, hold it tight. Use it to carry him through until the next moment when Zayn can be just his again.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Prompt: "Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Because some things are too strong and too strange to be coincidences." Zouis breaking up because of Zarry, naturally. (No one is angry, they both knew it was coming.)** _

“What?” Zayn’s confused by more than just the words. Louis’s sitting in their flat, on the couch. Like he’s been waiting. It’s not what they do, that sort of shit. They don’t even technically share a room–the advantages of being with your flatmate. They aren’t that sort of couple. Sometimes, Zayn wishes they were, wishes they could be, but–they aren’t.

“It’s some shit Harry said to me, once. When we’d just met him.” Louis gets up. He doesn’t sound angry, or even sad. He sounds contemplative, and that’s why Zayn’s scared. This is the Louis he has the most trouble predicting, even after fifteen years of friendship, and a year of whatever they are.

“It sounds like the sort of shit he’d say,” Zayn allows. He’s not sure what to do. He’s not sure what’s happening. “Are you high?”

“No. I’m breaking up with you.”

“What!” Zayn chokes it out, fumbling backwards for the wall. He hadn’t expected that. “Lou–”

“You were with him, right? Now?”

“I was hanging out with Harry, yeah. We didn’t, like–I wouldn’t, Louis–” He stammers. He wouldn’t. It’s there, and it’s been there between him and Harry ever since they met, but he wouldn’t. He hasn’t.

Louis ignores him, of course. He’s still looking thoughtful. Sober. Zayn just–he wants to know what’s happening, why this is happening. It’s been, well. It’s been good. He’s been in a thing with his best friend in the world, and the sex is good, and Harry is–well, Harry. He’s Harry. He doesn’t know why this is happening.

“It was–we were at karaoke, remember? When we’d just run into him again? After you two had met before, in Vegas. But we’d run into him at that bar, and you were singing, like, Usher or something, and he just–god, the way he was staring at you. I think he was really drunk, or he didn’t know who I was, but he said that and he was looking at you singing like, I don’t know. Like he’d die if he looked away.” Louis shakes his head, fiddling with his fringe like he’s always done when he gets nervous. “I think I knew this was going to happen from then.”

“Louis, why–”

“I don’t look at you like that.” Louis’s voice is frank. They’ve always been honest with each other, from the first time they met, playing in the sandbox. This sounds like that, sounds like Louis telling him that the slit in his eyebrow looks like crap, except it feels like Zayn is breaking apart. “You don’t look at me like that, not like you look at Harry.”

“I didn’t-”

“I’m not saying you did.” Louis sighs. “I’m just, Zayn. We both know what’s going to happen. We started this because it was convenient to hook up with someone who lived in the room next door. We aren’t in love. We aren’t going to be in love.”

“I love you.” It’s all Zayn has to offer, because he knows Louis’s right. They aren’t in love, they aren’t going to be in love. What he has with Louis is good, it’s fine, because Louis’s his best friend. It doesn’t feel the same as a moment with Harry, when they can fall into each other and never come out, where a single touch makes Zayn shiver.

“I know.” Louis smiles then, but it’s not his real smile. “I love you too, bro. That’s why I’m doing this. So you can go be with Harry properly.”

“But–” Zayn doesn’t know how to say it, didn’t have time to figure out how to say it. The most important thing. “I don’t want to lose you. That’s, like. That’s more important than Harry.”

This time Louis’s smile is a little realer. “You’re not losing me. I’ll go home for a few days, chill with the girls, while you and Harry sort your shit out. Then I’ll come home and it’ll be the same as before.”

“I don’t…” Louis seems to have this all figured out, in the way of his. Figured out Zayn’s life for him too, because he’s good at that, when he wants to be. But he’s wrong too, Zayn knows. It won’t be like what it was. It can’t be. Not when Zayn’s torn in two, and has been for too long. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“We knew this was stupid when we started it.” Louis shrugs, but Zayn knows him, and knows he’s hurting too. He reaches out, tugs Louis in, holds him close. He’s so familiar. Zayn knows Louis’s body like he knows his own, had since before they started this. He always knows where he stands with Louis. Knows that he really couldn’t bear losing him.

“I do love you,” he whispers, into Louis’s ear.

“And I really do know that.” Louis nuzzles into his neck, just for a second, then pulls away. If his eyes are wet, Zayn’s not going to say anything. “Now go tell Harry the good news. If you’re going to fuck, do it there, yeah? The walls here are thin.”

“I’m not going to go to Harry the second you break up with me,” Zayn protests. He won’t be that guy.

“Zayn.” Louis’s got that sad smile on, and he squeezes Zayn’s arm once before he lets go, steps away. It feels like a statement. Like something breaking. “I’m giving you my permission. I’m not standing in the way of the universe.”

“I–” Zayn takes a breath. “You’re an amazing person, Lou. You know that?”

“I do, actually.” Louis grins, sharp, and Zayn knows he’ll be okay. “Now I’m going to get drunk with Liam, and you’re going to call Harry.”

“Lou–” Louis’s out the door before Zayn can get a word in edgewise. Zayn wonders if he’d planned that all along. It’s a very Louis thing to do, to plan his dramatic exit, to leave himself an escape route. To sacrifice himself for Zayn.

Fucking hell. Zayn collapses onto the couch, buries his head in his hands. Then he lifts his head, and pulls out his phone.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Prompt: Harry being insecure about his looks and Zayn tries to make him feel better** _

“Harry.”

Harry ignores him so Zayn tries again, closing the door to Zayn’s flat behind them. “Harry,” he repeats, trying for more cajoling this time, but he’s getting angry, too. This is bullshit. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, that’s gotten Harry so stroppy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Harry sheds his coat, hanging it up carefully, then bends down to take off his boots. If it were another night–if Harry weren’t in such a snit–Zayn would admire the view, maybe sneak up behind him to sneak in a grope that could maybe end with some blow jobs before they even got out of the hall, but apparently somewhere between them meeting at the pub tonight, where Harry had greeted him with a kiss that had Louis throwing peanuts at them to stop, and right now something had gone sideways. So instead Zayn just takes off his coat, his own boots.

“Bullshit. What’s wrong?” Zayn doesn’t let Harry get away with these moods, with pretending; it’s one of the reasons they work so well. Zayn doesn’t let Harry stew, and Harry understands when Zayn needs to think things over himself. “What got you so mad?”

“Nothing.” Harry moves into the kitchen quickly, almost jerkily. Zayn watches, his eyes narrowed, as Harry fumbles down two glasses from the cupboard. Harry’s clumsy, sure, but not like this, not unless he’s actually upset. “We should have some water before bed, I think. No hangovers on my watch!”

“Babe.” Zayn tries it one more time, coming up behind Harry so he can drape himself over his back, his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist. Harry’s tense under him, so Zayn presses a kiss under his ear, to soothe him. “Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it.”

“He was hot.”

“What?” Zayn doesn’t pull away, but he stops kissing Harry to try to parse that out. “Who?”

“That guy,” Harry mutters. He’s filling both glasses from the tap, mainly, Zayn thinks, for something to do. They’ll be lucky if he doesn’t break them. “The one who was flirting with you, at the bar. He was really hot.”

“Yeah?” Zayn knows who Harry’s talking about, now–the man who’d been flirting with him at the bar when he got the last round of drinks. He was handsome, classically attractive in a Beckham sort of way, all square jaw, gelled blonde hair, and gym rat’s body. Now that he remembers it, Harry had started getting quiet when he’d gotten back with those drinks, hadn’t cuddled back into Zayn’s side like he usually did. “And?”

“And–and I don’t like seeing hot guys flirt with you!”

Zayn pulls back now, stung. “Do you not trust me?”

“No, it’s not–” Harry cuts himself off, running his hands through his hair as he turns around to face Zayn, leaning against the counter. “It’s not that. I trust you. I do.”

“Then what, you’re jealous?” Zayn’s just trying to find his way through this. He knows most people assume he’s the difficult one in this relationship, the one with the moods Harry has to deal with, but honestly Zayn’s pretty sure Harry’s far more confusing. “It’s not my fault that people flirt with me, Harry. I don’t ask for it, or anything.”

“I know that. I told you. It’s nothing.” Harry picks up the waters, and brushes past Zayn to the couch. “Now come drink your water, and we’ll go to bed.”

“It’s not nothing,” Zayn insists. “He was barely even flirting with me, Harry. It was maybe five minutes. You spent half the night flirting with other people, and I’m not in a snit.”

“Well I’m not you!”

“What does that even mean!” Zayn’s hands are in front of his face, unable to keep them from gesturing in his frustration.

“It means…” Harry shakes his head, then puts the glasses down on the coffee table. He stays looking there, instead of at Zayn. “It means I’m dating up, okay? You aren’t worried because you’re far hotter–and better–than I should get. But you–I’m not, okay? I shouldn’t be with someone who looks like you. And everyone knows it. And watching hot guys flirt with you just drives that home.”

“Oh, babe.” Zayn sighs, and his hands drop back to his side. It’s this bullshit again, the utterly ridiculous way Harry’s convinced Zayn’s out of his league. He somehow missed the memo that everyone knows Zayn’s the one dating up, that sure, Zayn’s hot and he knows it, but Zayn’s the difficult one, Harry’s the one who shines. “You know that’s not true.”

“It is, though.” Harry crosses his arms over his chest, still not looking at Zayn. “It’s just a fact. That guy you were flirting with–”

“Who was flirting with me,” Zayn corrects.

“Who was flirting with you, whatever. He was at your level. I’m not.”

“If you’re not at my level, it’s because you’re an idiot.” It doesn’t get the laugh Zayn was hoping, but it does get a bit of a smile. Time for drastic measures, because Zayn hates it when Harry’s like this, when he forgets his usual charm and confidence. Sometimes Zayn worries, about how it mainly seems to happen in relation to him, and what that means he must be doing wrong. Zayn crosses the room to Harry, slides his hands down to settle on his hips. Harry doesn’t pull away, at least. “Okay. Describe how he was hotter than you.”

“What?” Harry’s lower lip juts out. “Zayn, I don’t want to dwell on it–”

“Just do it.”

“Fine. Well. He had great cheekbones.”

“I like yours better. Zayn pushes up to kiss Harry’s cheek.

"And, um. A cleft chin.”

Zayn kisses his chin now, nipping a little. “Cleft chins are weird.”

“And nice hair.”

“Your hair is gorgeous.” Zayn twines his hands in it, tugging a little like always pulls a moan out of Harry. It doesn’t fail this time, and Harry’s looking at him wide-eyed, something almost pleading in it. Like he needs to be convinced, needs Zayn to convince him. “I love your curls, you know that.”

“Yeah. Um.” Zayn tries to distract Harry by scratching at Harry’s head, and he thinks it works, as Harry hesitates, his head tipping back into Zayn’s hands. “He had, like. You saw his body. He looked like he was sculpted or something.”

“Well.” Zayn presses a quick kiss to Harry’s lips, then sinks to his knees, flicking open the buttons at the bottom of Harry’s shirt as Harry’s breath catches, loud in the quiet room. “I like your stomach.” He kisses just above Harry’s belly button, his hands rubbing over his sides. He does like Harry’s body, loves the shapes of it, the hard muscles under a bit of softness, the contrast of it. He can feel the quick breaths Harry’s taking, glances up to see how he’s staring down at him. One of Harry’s hands is resting on his shoulder now, and Zayn could almost purr with that, and how Harry’s shoulders are relaxing. “I love how it feels. I love how it’s not all hard. I love how it means you do things other than go to the gym. I love how it means we sometimes binge on too much candy.”

He drags his lips down, over the hair under Harry’s belly button, but he doesn’t let Harry get a word in edgewise, as he strokes over Harry’s thighs, in his tight jeans. “Love your legs, how they wrap around me, or how you can hold me up. Love your cute duck feet.” Harry chokes out a laugh, and Zayn smiles into Harry’s thigh, before he looks up again. Harry’s staring at him, hungry with more than just lust, and Zayn covers the hand on Zayn’s shoulder with his own. “I love you, babe. In my eyes, you’re the most gorgeous man in the world.”

“Zayn.” It’s a single word, but it feels like Harry’s put the whole world into it. And more than that, better than that, the uncertainty is gone. It’s just Harry, all Harry. “God, I love you.”

Zayn grins, then, because he’s already there and he can see what he’s done to Harry in the bulge in his jeans, he lets go of Harry’s hand to open up Harry’s jeans. “Now, we didn’t see his cock, so I can’t really compare. But I bet yours is bigger. I definitely know I love it more.”

“Zayn!” Harry yelps, half laughing, as Zayn finishes pushing down his jeans, and Zayn counts it as a success.  


	17. Chapter 17

_**Prompt: "Going somewhere, Cinderella?" - Zarry, pre-Grammy party, Harry catches Zayn leaving early in the parking.** _

One more minute. If Zayn had been one more minute faster, he’d have been in the car already. Maybe they’d already have pulled away. One more minute–if he’d just decided one minute sooner–then he’d have already been out of here.

But he didn’t. And so he taps the window, to let the driver know he’s probably going to be here a little while longer, and turns around.

Harry’s  standing just a few meters away. He looks just as good this close as he had when Zayn had caught sight of him across the room, coming in with the Azoffs, but of course he would. Zayn hadn’t expected anything else. It’s just…he looks older, than he had when Zayn had last seen him. Almost a year ago, Zayn supposes, so that makes sense. But he’d never noticed Harry aging before, never had the chance to, after seeing him every day. It’s a stark contrast, Harry looking older. Looking adult.

But he still has that little smirk on, the smile he gets that means he knows how cute he is, how charming, and how he expects Zayn to play along. Say something about how it isn’t midnight, or how he was going to leave a shoe. That hasn’t changed. That little smirk, and the way Harry always expects everyone to fall in line with his charm and games because he’s Harry Styles and the world rearranges itself to his will.

Zayn won’t. Zayn refuses. It’s been a fucking year, and Zayn won’t play Harry’s games, not anymore. “Really?” he demands. “That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me in a year?”

Harry’s smirk falters, but his poker face is as impeccable as it’s been for the last few years, still a genial mask. Zayn hates it. Hates the mask, hates that he had to learn to wear it. Hates how much better he is at wearing it than Zayn. Hates that he missed it.

“And that’s the first thing you’re–”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Zayn snaps. He’s spent the better part of six months on the defensive, he’s not letting them get away with that now. “There are messages on your phone. If you bothered to listen to them.”

“Zayn…” Harry sighs, like he’s exasperated with Zayn. Like he was sick of Zayn and Louis’s pranks, or thought Zayn was being petty for his anger. Like when Zayn had actually fucking told him what he wanted and Harry had just sighed and said he had to learn to play the game better, maybe they’d get something of his on the next album. “I–”

“Why are you even here?” Zayn demands. “You could be upstairs with all your posh friends. Making connections, and all. It’s what you do, right?”

“It’s what you’re doing,” Harry retorts, and yes, that’s the mask cracking. Zayn can’t help the flicker of relief. That there’s still something under the mask of Harry Styles. Still something of the giggling boy who’d curled up with Zayn in a bunk when the world was too big. Who held Zayn’s hand when he needed it, who laughed at the worst of Zayn’s jokes. Who got angry, when shit happened. “Or did you come here for another reason?”

“Obviously not.” Zayn will admit that. He doesn’t care. Doesn’t have anything to lose. “Why are you down here, Harry?”

“It felt polite.” Harry shrugs, gives another one of those careless, charming smiles. Normally, it would make his shirt slip open, but all the buttons are done today. It feels symbolic. “Cameras, and all.”

“Polite would have been saying hi if I was still upstairs. I was gone. Why are you down here?” Zayn takes a step forward. He just–fuck, he’s been waiting for this for a year, and he wants Harry to give him something. Harry’d followed him downstairs, that has to mean something. Has to mean he was something. He just needs to poke his way through Harry to find it. “Why’d you follow me?”

“Why’d you run?” Harry retorts, and there it is. There’s the mask cracking, the anger going through, and good. Zayn would rather anger than forced politeness. Rather Harry rage. Louis’d been refreshing in that, almost. He understands Louis’s anger, even if he’s being a bitch about it. He’s never understood Harry’s repression. “You said you’d talk to us if we wanted, and then the first time we’re in the same place you bolt.”

“Did you want? To talk?”

“Of course!” Harry throws up his arms, rocks forward. His voice is loud in the acoustics of the car park; for the first time, Zayn wonders if they shouldn’t do this here. But fuck it.  "I’m down here, aren’t I? Of course I wanted to fucking talk.“

"I don’t know, maybe you just wanted to be cute. It’s been a year, didn’t think you’d change anything.”

“It’s been a year, and–” Harry sighs again, but it’s not exasperation. It’s just, it sounds like exhaustion. “And I miss you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I miss you and I’m tired of being mad at you.”

“You’re tired of it?” Zayn drawls, but his heart is beating faster. He’s waited so long to hear that. Just that simple fucking admission. That he was missed. That Harry missed him. That everything they had wasn’t nothing.

“Don’t be an asshole.” Harry takes a step forward this time. They’re getting closer. Zayn’s not sure he can handle being this close, not to Harry, not after all this time. He has a life now, one that isn’t Harry. He wants Harry in it, but this close…this is the risk he’s taking, with Harry. The risk Harry always was, with his big eyes and dimples and long legs, with the thing they never talked about between them. “We had a right to be mad. You left us.”

“I left the band!” Zayn spits. Is he the only one who gets that? Apparently he is, because it took Liam nine months to get the distinction and even now Zayn’s pretty sure he doesn’t understand, he’s just okay with it. “I didn’t leave you! I didn’t want to leave you!”

Now it’s his voice that echoes. Maybe he needs a mask like Harry’s, because it feels like that was ripped out of him, out of his core, like a good song does. Like he’s laid out everything for Harry, like he used to sometimes, before Harry put on his masks and Zayn got too wary of what went on under them, too afraid he was being judged. He’s almost afraid to look at Harry, after that, but he forces himself to–he has to look at him, even if he just gets the mask.

Harry doesn’t have the mask on. Harry’s eyes are wide, his mouth gaping a little open. He looks young again. Young, but not unsure, not the sort of eager boy he’d been.

“Then why’d you run?” he asks, quiet this time. Zayn shrugs. “No, Zayn.” Harry takes another step forward, and Zayn can’t move, can’t look away, as Harry slides his hand up his jaw, callouses scraping against Zayn freshly shaved skin, forcing him to stay where he is. It’s the first time Harry’s touched him in almost a year. Zayn wishes he didn’t know that so well. “Why’d you run?”

Zayn swallows. He forgets, sometimes, that Harry knows him as well as he knows Harry. That Harry knows how to see through Zayn’s defenses too. “I was scared,” he mutters.

“Of me?” Harry’s lips twitch. His hand isn’t moving. Zayn can almost feel Harry’s body heat, the edges of his hair brushing against Zayn’s chest.

“Of what you’d say.” Zayn resists the urge to rub at his ear, to fidget nervously. “I didn’t want to hear that you didn’t miss me. I didn’t, like. I didn’t want you to be fucking polite to me, like we were fucking ex-coworkers or something.”

Harry’s thumbs runs over his cheekbone, like he’s tracing it. Like he’s remembering it. “Of course I missed you.” He says it like it’s a fact, like it couldn’t be anything else, and something untwists in Zayn, maybe the last bit of him that’s still sitting there on March 24th waiting to make the call. “How could I not?”

“Haz–” There’s suddenly a sharp knocking sound, and they both jump, jolted out of the bubble they’d always been able to fall into around each other. Zayn looks around for the source of the sound, finds it at the car, the window rolled down. The driver. Right, shit. Wanting to know what to do. They can’t stay here forever.

“I should go.” Zayn points his thumb at the car.

“Yeah.” Harry runs a hand through his hair, the same old nervous gesture, his fingers teasing out the ends. “I’m glad we talked.”

“Me too. Finally,” Zayn adds, because he can’t resist it. Harry rolls his eyes, but doesn’t refute it, so Zayn opens the car door. He doesn’t need to steal one last look at Harry. He won’t. He refuses to. There’s still mad there, mad and hurt, and he thinks there still is in Harry too, and he won’t give in to Harry’s pull that easily.

“Zayn.” Well, if he’s called, he’ll look back. He does, right before he gets into the car. Harry’s got his stupid smirk on again. “You don’t have to leave a slipper. I can find you anyway.”

Zayn laughs, and closes the door. Harry’s still there as they pull away, typing something into his phone. Zayn wishes he were surprised.

He is surprised, when his phone buzzes a second later.

_I’ll pick up if you will. It can be our glass slipper._


	18. Chapter 18

_**Prompt: "Fine, alright, I want to lick his jaw, happy now?" "Definitely", a slow raspy voice murmurs somewhere behind him.** _

Niall lets out a cackle of laughter. Liam has the grace to look embarrassed. Zayn spares a second to curse whatever deity out there decided to make a farce of his life, then he sets his shoulders, and turns around.

Sure enough, it’s Styles standing there, smirking as he leans against the water cooler. He’s always fucking smirking when he looks at Zayn, like he knows something he doesn’t, just because Zayn’s in design and he’s in marketing. Like that makes him smarter than Zayn, or something, which is fucking doesn’t. Zayn may also be a little drunk on the punch Louis spiked, because he also can’t help but notice that Styles looks even better than usual, in his tight pants and a white shirt open just this side of inappropriate for the office. It might even be inappropriate, but it’s the Christmas party and Zayn’s pretty sure he saw all the managers getting drunk in the CEO’s office, so he’s pretty okay. Zayn is not pretty okay, because he can see far too much of Styles’s chest.

“We weren’t talking about you.”

“Really?” Styles saunters over to them. Niall and Liam are being useless and not somehow warding him away, or distracting Zayn from how Styles always seems to walk like he’s led by his dick. Which Zayn should not be thinking about, not about Styles’s dick and definitely not in the office. He drinks more punch. It’s probably a bad idea. “So there’s some other ‘fucking marketing know it all who won’t leave me alone?’”

“I’m in high demand,” Zayn informs him. He waves his hand to get his point across, because Styles needs to know that. “I am very good at my job.”

“I know.” Styles is smiling, like something is amusing him. He has dimples. And that stupid perfect jawline. Zayn hates it. “That’s why I won’t leave you alone.”

“You never act like it,” Zayn retorts. He’s about to drink more of the punch, but it’s not in his hand any more, it’s in Liam’s. Huh. “Why’d you take that?”

“Because I think you’ve had enough.” Liam gives Styles an apologetic smile. He should be apologizing to Zayn. He took his punch. “Sorry about him. I don’t think he ate lunch.”

“Which is your fault,” Zayn mutters, maybe not properly quietly. But it is Styles’s fault, sending down a project with such a tight deadline. That’s what had started this whole mess, because he’d skipped lunch to do it and then he’d gotten drunker than he should at a company holiday party and then he’d been bitching about it to Niall and Liam and then Styles had heard. So it’s all his fault, really.

“It’s okay,” Styles tells Liam, but he’s looking at Zayn. “As long as he wants to lick my jaw, I’m good.”

“You shouldn’t have heard that.”

“Why not?” Styles sweeps his hair back off his shoulders, teasing his fingers through the ends. It’s hotter than it should be. Zayn wouldn’t think it was hot if he wasn’t drunk.

“Because I didn’t want you to know that. Now you’ll use it to make me do more work for you.”

“I…” Styles’s smirk falters. “What?”

“You always give me more projects,” Zayn explains. Styles’s face is doing something weird, and he needs punch to deal with it. Where did his punch go again? “And then you come by and nag me about them and I don’t have time and now you know how much I want to lick your jaw you’ll blackmail me into doing more.”

“I–” this time, when Styles ruffles his hair, it doesn’t seem teasing, it seems properly shaken. “Damn. Is that what you think is happening?”

“That’s what is happening,” Zayn informs him. He knows. He’s sure of it. Styles with his distracting tight pants and lickable jaw.

“Shit. How drunk are you?”

“I’m going to remember this.” Zayn considers, then nods. “Just probably regret it. Liam should have stopped me from saying it. Where is Liam?” He looks around, but Liam appears to have disappeared. There are just random groups of people getting tipsy on the company dime and the paltry tinsel because the company was cheap as fuck.

“He went to talk to Louis, I think.” Styles shifts his weight between his feet, but he still looks weird. He’s not smirking. “Niall’s flirting with sales.”

“They’re bad friends,” Zayn decides. “Abandoning me.”

“Yeah, maybe. I–do you–you really think I’m just making you do more work?” Styles is stumbling over his words. He’s never done that before. Never seemed wrong-footed.

Zayn purses his lips, thinking, but, “Yeah?”

“Damn,” Styles says again, and rubs over his face. When his hand comes away, he’s got a charmingly sheepish smile on, dimples and all. “I think that’s the worst my flirting’s ever backfired.”

Zayn opens his mouth, can’t think of anything to say, then closes it again. Then he blinks. He’s not that drunk. He shouldn’t be hallucinating. “Flirting?”

“I, uh. Wanted excuses to talk to you, mainly.” Styles ruffles his hair again, glancing away from Zayn. Zayn is very confused. Flirting? “You never said you were overloaded or anything, and I didn’t have any other excuse to get your attention.”

Now it’s Zayn’s turn to rub at his ear. He wishes he were more sober. Or maybe this would just be more confusing, sober. “You don’t think you’re better than me?”

“No. Definitely not.” Harry chuckles, a little wryly. “You were just too intimidating to talk to otherwise.”

“Intimidating?” Zayn’s not intimidating. Or well, he knows he can, be, actually–Liam was scared to talk to him for a few weeks because he thought Zayn’s quietness was grumpiness, and people are put off by the tattoos and how he apparently glowers–but Harry didn’t seem like the type to be intimidated. Not with his stupid smirks and confident strut. “Me?”

“You.” Harry’s hand twitches, like he’d want to reach out and touch. Touch Zayn. “I kind of want to lick your jaw too, okay?”

“My jaw?” Zayn feels like a broken record, but he’s not computing. None of this makes sense.

“Zayn!” Suddenly there’s a Louis slung over his shoulders, and Zayn stumbles just a bit under the weight. Louis’s clearly been having a lot of his own punch as well. “Zayn, come with me. I need you. Right now.” He makes a not at all subtle smoking motion, and Zayn laughs. That makes sense, at least.

“Yeah. Sure. Um…” he looks at Harry, who shrugs and smiles again.

“I’ll see you Monday, Zayn.” He does that hair ruffle thing again. It’s cute. It shouldn’t be cute. He shouldn’t be cute. Or maybe he should be. Zayn’s not sure. “And, well. Sorry.”

“It’s…yeah,” is all Zayn can get out, before Louis’s dragging him away.

—

Monday, Zayn comes to work to a cup of coffee on his desk and a Harry Styles leaning against it, with that sheepish grin on and those dimples and that lickable jaw.

“Peace offering?” he suggests, with a smile that isn’t even a bit of a smirk. He really is cute. Just cute, and hot, and maybe not as horrible a person as Zayn had thought.

He takes the coffee.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Prompt: "He's an idiot.... but I'd really like it if that idiot would pin me down sometime."** _

“He’s not an idiot.” Harry chooses that moment to apparently trip over nothing, so Zayn might be regretting his instinct to defend him, but no. Harry’s not an idiot. Or, he is sometimes, but he’s Zayn’s idiot. Sort of. He’s Zayn’s agent, anyway, which is more important, because he makes Zayn look good, and no one who does that is an idiot.

The model he’s talking to raises her eyebrows, and purses perfectly lined lips as Harry bounces to his feet, grinning sheepishly. “So how’s having him pin you down, then?”

“I–” Zayn swallows down his initial urge to stammer. He’s better than this, now. He knows this. “I wouldn’t know,” he finally replies, cooly. “Although I hear it’s good.”

“Hm.” He can’t tell if the model–and fuck, he should really remember her name, they’ve been in the same shoots before, Harry probably knows–is doubting the first part of his statement, or the second. “He manages to stay upright that long?”

Zayn shrugs. “He’s good.” The best, really, if underestimated sometimes. Which only works out for them.

The model snorts. “Sure. And you don’t keep him around for those hands of his.” Her eyes trail very obviously downwards. “Or anything else.” They’re the models here–she’s in just a robe, Zayn’s in nothing but a pair of loose jeans–but Zayn has the urge to cover her eyes to stop her from looking at Harry like a piece of meat. He’s so much more. She should stop. Especially because Harry’s approaching them, and Zayn can tell from the way his lips twitch that he heard.

“No, I keep him around for his mouth.” Harry grins at Zayn, then turns a gaze that anyone but Zayn might think is warm on the model. “That’s what makes me my money, after all. Well, that and his everything else.” Casually, he throws an arm around Zayn’s waist. Fuck, his hands really are big. Zayn’d always known that, but with them talking about it and Harry’s hands on his bare skin…he really could pin Zayn down. And Zayn hadn’t been lying; he’s heard from the people who slept with Harry, because somehow they always feel the need to gossip with him, and the reviews are stellar.

“Really?” The model’s looking between them, and Zayn knows that look. That’s the look of someone who’s about to spread all sorts of rumors about how he’s fucking his agent. It’s better than fucking someone else, he supposes vaguely, because at least then he can’t be really accused of sleeping his way to the top, but still. He hates it when those rumors circulate, like they do once every few months. Hates it when all those eyes are on him for something other than what he’s here to do.

Harry, of course, doesn’t seem to care, just squeezes Zayn’s hip casually, right over the heart, and nods. “My best client, definitely. He’s got the Gucci shoot next week, after all.” His face is guileless, but the model isn’t as good; she flinches. She must have wanted that shoot and not gotten it, though Zayn wouldn’t have gotten it over her or anything. Sometimes, Zayn remembers why Harry is good. Very very good. And also why he likes him. “But first, this shoot. Zayn, you’ve got some solo shots first.”

“Duty calls.” Zayn raises a hand to bid the model good bye, then follows Harry through the venue, steadying him with a hand on his side when he trips again. “Did you have to do that?” he mutters, when Harry’s upright again.

“Do what?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You know what.”

“No, Zayn. What did I do?” Harry’s jaw sets. “It seemed to me like I managed not to be annoyed at that girl for how she apparently thinks I’m useless.”

“You are annoyed,” Zayn corrects. The director holds up a hand for him to wait, so he does, standing still as a make up person does a final touch up. “I meant, did you have to make her think we were fucking?”

Harry grins. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” The designer’s tugging at his jeans now, and Zayn raises his hands, lets her feel over his legs. “You just–”

“It’s not my fault we have chemistry,” Harry tells him, matter of fact, and then the director barks out a “Malik!” and Zayn has to go instead of digesting that.

He sits down against the dark background, does what the director says. It’s not a complicated shoot, just him laying down mainly. He starts off propped up on his elbows, smoldering down at his body, as the cameras click around him. He knows he and Harry have chemistry. They always have, like they flirt and joke, because that’s how they work together, more friends than agent and client. It works for them. They both know it.

It’s just a confluence of circumstances, he thinks, changing pose when directed. The model talking about Harry holding someone down and Harry’s casual touching and Zayn hasn’t had sex in a while. Well, a few days. Whatever. That’s the only reason.

“Okay, now, up on one arm–yeah, like that, and put your other hand to your mouth, like you’re wiping something.” the director tells him, and Zayn does it, adjusting to his orders. “Look at us. I want vulnerability, this time. You’re asking them in.” Zayn adjusts his face accordingly–photographers always like how he can do vulnerable, how when he makes his eyes big he can look hot and approachable. He does that this time–and catches Harry’s eye, from where he’s standing behind the camera.

He’s seen Harry look at him before. He’s seen Harry look at him like he wants him before, even, because Zayn knows he’s hot and spends a good portion of his professional life more or less naked and a good portion of that time around Harry. But maybe it’s just the circumstances, maybe it’s because Zayn’s thinking about it, maybe it’s because something has changed or he’s only seeing this look now–but Harry’s looking at him like he’d like to pin him down right there, like he wants to devour him, like he’s thinking about what Zayn could be wiping from his mouth, half naked and open. Zayn doesn’t flush, doesn’t react, because he’s a professional, but he keeps his gaze locked with Harry, and Harry doesn’t look away either. His mouth is open, just a bit, and then he’s wetting his lips, those pink pink lips, and god they’d feel good on Zayn–

There’s a crash, and Zayn jumps, along with the rest of the crew. Harry does flush this time, as he leans down to pick up the papers he’d managed to knock out of an intern’s hands. He fumbles those papers a little, as he hands them back to her, grinning sheepishly.

Zayn lets his head drop back, takes a breath. He’s not going to think about how Harry could pin him down, how he might actually, seriously, want to. Or at least. Not until the shoot is over. 


	20. Chapter 20

_**Prompt:** _ _**boxing au, where they're opponents but also you know in love (Parts[2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215450), [3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215564), [4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215897))** _

“So.”

“Yeah.”

Zayn fumbles with his wraps, the canvas falling to the floor in a long, almost cartoonish drawn out motion. He watches it, because it’s easier than looking at the other person in the locker room.

“Hey. Let me get that for you.” Then there are hands in his field of vision, big hands, hands Zayn’s thought too much about, gathering up the canvas. Harry rolls it back up in easy, competent motions–which, of course he would, he’s been doing this almost as long as Zayn has. Almost. Not as long. Not so long that Zayn can’t remember when he came into this world, with his big smiles and curly hair and long, toned body.

“Are you just not going to look at me until we get on the mat? Or are you not going to look at me there? Because I think that would give me the advantage,” Harry teases. Because he’s busy rerolling Zayn’s wraps, he nudges Zayn with his foot.

Zayn can feel himself flush, then looks up. Harry’s got that eager, concerned look on, the one he’d given Zayn almost the first time he’d seen him, when Zayn had just come off the mat to his biggest victory to date and Harry had bounced up to him, all congratulations and questions and solicitousness about his injury. “It’s just, like, weird, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugs. “It’s what we do. We’re boxers. We box.”

“I wasn’t supposed to box you.” They weren’t even in the same weight class, or they hadn’t been. Zayn knew he’d been bulking up a bit, but he was a little worried, that Harry had dropped that much weight.

“I’ve always wanted to box you.” Zayn bites down on his lip, hard. He’d known that. Harry’d been forever asking to spar, to set up an exhibition match, anything. At first, Zayn had refused because he’d just been a kid. Then…then Zayn hadn’t wanted to fight Harry. Hadn’t wanted to have to think of him like that. But Harry’s forced his hand now, and maybe that’ll get Zayn angry enough he’ll be able to do this. The money from winning this fight will mostly pay for Wali’s semester, he reminds himself. He can manage it without the win, but it’ll always help. Wali’s semester, and it’ll give him the exposure he needs to get bigger fights, more sponsorships. The reminder doesn’t work as well as it usually does. Not when he can almost feel Harry’s nose breaking under his fist, a phantom nightmare he’s had too many times before.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Zayn mutters, and has to look away again, down at the bench of the locker room. it’s clean, far cleaner than his gym. Malay runs a tight place, but it’s old and worn (like Daredevil’s gym, Liam had said once, when he came to visit, and it had made Zayn smile, because that’s what it felt like, a gym with history). Not like this shiny new arena. Harry’s gym is probably like this, which is why he’s never understood why Harry hangs around with him, asking for his advice, asking him questions. He could get much shinier options.

“Maybe you won’t.” Harry sets down the wraps on the bench, then sits down, sliding into Zayn’s vision. “I’m good too. I could win.”

Zayn shakes his head. Harry is good. Harry is technically flawless. Harry is probably going to make more money than him someday soon, will win over sponsors, will get his face on ads and posters. But Zayn has been boxing since before he could read, since he could sit on his father’s lap and watch matches, and he knows. “You won’t.”

“Ouch.” Harry puts his hands over his heart, puts on a hurt expression. “Your words hurt.”  

“You know why?” Zayn demands, suddenly. He’s angry. Harry’s forced him into this, out of pride of something, and he never wanted this. Never wanted to hurt Harry. Never wanted to fight him, even if he was sure he’d never get him the way he wanted. “You aren’t fighting for anything. I’m out there fighting for my family, every time. Every time I win, it’s to pay off their bills, get my mum a proper house, get my sisters to college. It makes me win. You’re fighting because you like it and are good at it. It makes it start here.” He taps at Harry’s head, maybe harder than he should. “Not here.” Now his chest, over his heart. “Or here.” His stomach, tight abs, and Zayn can’t think about that, not now. “There’s my final advice for you. You’re good, Harry. Very good. But you don’t need to win, and that’s why I’m going to beat you.” Zayn spins on his heel, so he can press his forehead against the cool metal of the locker. Fuck. Fucking hell. Why did it have to come to this?

Outside, he can hear cheering. Their managers will come in soon, separating them, starting whatever their pre-fight rituals are. Soon, Harry will have to become the enemy, not Harry, that annoying kid who’s become so much more to Zayn. He closes his eyes, lets the metal calm him. The smell of the locker room is the same, no matter how shiny and new it is. It’s gross, no denying it, but it’s home. Home, like the house he bought for his mum. Like the girls’ smiles. Like his dad’s hug, the pride in him shining through.

“You’re wrong.” Harry’s voice is calm, controlled. He’s good at that. Keeping himself in line. It serves him well at the media battles outside the ring, but in it, it’s his weakness. He hides the fire in him. Tries to put it out.

Harry gets up, and Zayn can feel the footfalls as he comes closer to him, until suddenly his hands are on Zayn’s back, sliding up the bare skin. Zayn shivers, can’t help it. It’s not like they haven’t touched each other before; they’re athletes, and Zayn’s had his hands all over Harry, positioning his body, hugging him. But now Zayn shivers. In a few minutes, Harry’s touch won’t be tender, or feather light like it is now.

“I know I’m not…I know I’m just some middle class kid who fell into this, not like you,” Harry goes on. His voice is deep in Zayn’s ear. “And usually, maybe you are right, I don’t need to support my family or anything with this. I don’t need to win. I just like to.” His hands are on Zayn’s shoulders now. In another world, another life, Zayn would thrill at the feeling of Harry’s big hands keeping him there. Now, there’s a part of him that’s cataloging how he’d get out. How he’d take Harry down. “But this time, you’re wrong.”

“Why?” Zayn shakes off Harry’s hands so he can turn, can look at Harry, because this is the one thing he’s needed to know. Needed to know since Sarah told him about this match, since Harry had started bugging him about it. Since the first time Harry had asked to fight him, all big green eyes and smirking dimples. “Why do you want to fight me so badly?”

Harry’s face isn’t it’s usual smiling mask. There’s something open and raw there, as he stares back at Zayn, so close and so far. “How else am I supposed to prove to you I’m not some kid?”

“What?” Zayn’s heartbeat picks up. This is not how he should be spending his prematch time, but he can’t look away from Harry. Harry, and the way his jaw is set.

“I’m not a kid. I’m not your mentee.” Harry’s hands are on either side of his head now, caging him in. If Zayn didn’t know that he could get out in a heartbeat, he might be afraid. he still is afraid. But more of himself, and of the look on Harry’s face. “And I need you to know that.”

“I do.” Fuck, Zayn does. Too well. “You don’t have to, like, prove yourself to me.”

Harry shakes his head. His hair, still loose, brushes over his bare shoulders. “You don’t. Not the way I want you to.” Slowly, deliberately, Harry takes a step closer to him, so they’re pressed together, and fuck they’ve never been like this before. Zayn’s breath catches. They’re both in spandex for the match; there’s barely anything to block how Harry feels against him, all warm, taut skin. “Not the way I want you.”

It’s a knockout punch. Zayn’s head rings with it, and all he can do is stare at Harry, speechless. He didn’t–that wasn’t–

“So I’m going to win, Zayn.” Harry says it like a fact, like a statement, but there’s fire underneath, supporting it. “I’ll give you the money if you need it, but I’m going to win.” HIs voice is a whisper, almost a breath into Zayn’s mouth. “That’s not the prize I’m fighting for.”

Outside, Zayn can just make out the click of heels that means Sarah’s on her way to get him. But his whole world is right here, right here with Harry’s eyes burning as they look at him, with how he’s never seen that, never thought he could.

“You won’t win,” Zayn tells him, and brings a hand up, to cup his face. A gentle touch, before it turns to violence. Something so Harry knows his hands can do both. “But you never had to fight to win me.”

“Zayn!” Sarah’s voice comes from outside. “Time.”

Zayn’s hand falls to his side, and Harry steps away. They’re already breathing too hard. At least they’ll both be on the wrong foot, Zayn supposes. He never thought this would happen. Never conceived of Harry wanting him back like that. Never thought this could happen minutes before they’ll be talking with their fists instead.

“Well.” Harry smiles at him. “I’d wish you luck, but…”

Zayn takes a deep breath, then he nods back. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Zayn picks up his wraps, his gloves. He looks at Harry, in his spandex with his hair loose. His eyes are glinting, and there’s fire in them, a fire Zayn’s never seen before a match. A drive. A need. For a second, Zayn wonders if Harry could beat him–but then he sets that aside. He can’t wonder that. He’s going to win. He’ll win, then he’ll show Harry that prizes can be won outside the ring as well. “We’ll see,” he says, and lets the door of the locker room close behind him.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Prompt: Roommates waking after drunkenly sleeping together** _

I

Harry wakes up to the sound of his alarm with a heavy arm over his chest and breath on his shoulder. He’s not awake enough to panic; they’d stayed up late celebrating Harry moving into the flat, and he’d sort of forgotten he’d set his alarm to wake up to do yoga before class, so he doesn’t know how much sleep he got exactly but it’s not enough. The arm is comforting. He likes cuddling with people, likes sleeping with people. The rest of it he’s not great at–other than sex–but the sleeping part is ace.

The other person in bed makes a groaning, snuffling sound against his shoulder. “Off,” the person mutters, and oh, it’s Zayn. That should probably make Harry more worried–they just moved in together, you shouldn’t sleep with roommates–but now he’s also awake enough to process that they’re both fully clothed and that he did not drink enough to make him forget sleeping with Zayn Malik.

“Off,” Zayn orders again, and nuzzles into Harry’s neck. Harry probably should say something about how his bed is two doors down, or how this is Harry’s bed and he should make allowances for that, but he’s tired, and he doesn’t want to mess up the roommates thing so soon, and Zayn’s warm and cozy, all the sharp edges he sometimes puts on dulled by sleep.

Harry shuts off his alarm. They go back to sleep.

V

Apparently, it’s a thing. Harry doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Zayn’s notorious for being a cuddler, and for falling asleep at a moment’s notice; that those things are combined should make sense. That those things are combined in Harry’s bed is a little weirder, but Liam had laughed when Harry had, haltingly, brought it up with him. “Yeah, he does that sometimes,” Liam had said, like it wasn’t a big deal, and okay. Harry could deal with that. They were awesome roommates otherwise, the four of them, and a little cuddling never went amiss. He’s much more likely to go with people to their rooms then to bring people back to his. And Zayn was a good bedmate, never stole the blankets or snored and politely ignored any morning wood situations, which was more than he could say for past bedmates; if he was grumpy in the mornings it was cute enough that Harry didn’t mind, and Harry was usually up before him anyway, slipping out of bed and watching Zayn curl up closer, his cheeks flushed and his eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks. It’s not the worst sight in the world to wake up to.

X

The hacking starts in Harry’s chest, horrible hoarse coughs that feel like they’re ripping him apart. Harry ends up hunched over, trying to draw in breaths through his mouth, because of course his nose is so stuffed up.

“Hey.” There’s a hand on his back, stroking gently; the warmth of Zayn’s bare chest is calming against his side. “Breathe, babe. You’re okay.”

The coughing fit ends, but Harry stays hunched over, massaging at his throat. Fuck, he hates being sick. Zayn’s still rubbing at his back, murmuring quiet encouraging things; it helps to be able to focus on the slow circles he’s making on Harry’s skin.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he tells Harry, when his breathing evens out again. Harry manages a nod. The bed feels colder, without Zayn.

Zayn’s back a few minutes later. Harry takes the glass of water he offers with a wan smile. He knows how horrible he must look, with his runny nose and bloodshot eyes and general sickliness, and then there’s Zayn who’s all beautiful all the time, even now with his messy hair and sweatpants low on his hips. “Thanks. You should probably go back to your room. Don’t want to get you sick.”

Zayn shrugs, then climbs back into bed, wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder. “You don’t kick me out. Least I can do.”

It might be, but Harry falls asleep easier with Zayn wrapped around him, humming a lullaby like it’s a cure for the common cold.

XV

“Did you actually just hook up with someone then get into my bed?”

Zayn makes one of his grunting noises that means he’s too tired and probably drunk to answer that question. He spreads out over the bed, taking up more space than he should actually be able to, catlike.

“Shush. Sleep.”

Harry waits a beat, then, because he’s possibly a little shit and also Zayn woke him up this time. “Well? Was she cute?”

Zayn opens one eye and gives Harry a baleful look. “Want a play by play?”

Harry swallows. He hadn’t hooked up with anyone at the party tonight. It’s probably not a good idea to hear Zayn describing sex in that rough, fucked out voice. “Take off your jeans before you sleep,” he tells Zayn, and Zayn laughs and obeys.

XX

“Thank you.” Zayn’s voice is quiet. Harry stops midway through the slow process of extricating himself from Zayn’s clinging arms, and relaxes back into them. He hadn’t thought Zayn was awake yet. The morning light is only just filtering through the curtains, it’s far too early for Zayn.

“For what?”

“This.” Zayn’s forehead rests against Harry’s neck, and they’re touching all over but somehow it’s that one point of contact that Harry feels like a brand. Maybe it’s the intimacy, though it’s not like this whole thing isn’t intimate. It just feels…more. More in a way Harry’s been trying not to think about. “It’s not…I just, like. Hate sleeping alone. I don’t sleep as well, alone.”

There’s more there. It’s not a full explanation, and Harry knows it. He rolls over, and then he’s looking at Zayn, with the lightest bit of sun over his cheeks, falling into his hair. It’s not a view many people get of Zayn.

“I like cuddling,” Harry replies. It’s not everything, for why not a week goes by without Zayn crawling into his bed once or twice during it. But it’s enough for now.

XXV

Zayn’s asleep on his bed when Harry slips in. He needs a shower, to get the scent of sex off him, then he probably needs to drink a few glasses of water before he sleeps, but instead, he leans against his dresser, looks at Zayn. He’s never seen Zayn in his bed when he comes in; he’d always figured if Zayn saw he wasn’t there he went to go sleep with Liam or someone instead. But now he’s here, curled up in Harry’s bed like he belongs there, like he was waiting for Harry. Like sleeping in Harry’s bed was enough to keep away whatever made him not be able to sleep.

Harry is still buzzing a little, from some very nice sex; he aches in all the right places. And he looks at Zayn, so gorgeous and vulnerable in his bed, and thinks, fuck.

XXX

Harry wakes to his alarm, with an arm thrown over his chest and breath on his shoulder. This time, he does panic, immediately, because he hadn’t drunk last night and he remembers exactly what it was to sleep with Zayn Malik. Have sex with. He’d already known what it was to sleep with him.

“Off,” Zayn mumbles, shifting against Harry’s side, and yeah he is definitely naked. They both are. They are roommates and they are naked in bed together and they did not talk about this and Harry doesn’t want to move out. Doesn’t want Zayn to stop being here, in his bed like this, naked or not. Doesn’t want–

“Off,” Zayn repeats grumpily. “Alarm off. Sleep.” His lips press against Harry’s jaw, then Zayn’s hand is tilting his head down, so Zayn can kiss him. His morning breath tastes gross. Harry’s not sure he’s ever been happier. “Freak out later. Sleep now.”

Harry laughs, and shuts off his alarm. He snuggles back down into Zayn, and goes back to sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Prompt: Witch Harry accidentally summoning demon Zayn** _

Harry hadn’t really expected it to work. Summoning wasn’t his bag of tricks at all–he specialized in charms, usually. Sometimes he dabbled in Transmogrification, but only when he was bored. Potions was an area of last resort. Summoning he hadn’t done since school, and even then he’d only just squeaked a pass by cribbing Louis’s notes. So when the smoke in his workshop clears and there’s an actual humanoid figure there, Harry’s jaw drops.

“I did it?” It comes out more of a question than a cheer, but the only thing there to hear is Harry’s familiar, Cat, and she doesn’t deign to answer. “I did it!”

“You did.” The voice that comes from inside the circle is beautiful. Harry’d generally heard that demons were supposed to be ugly, but he guesses a rich, smooth voice makes sense with the whole temptation thing. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Harry replies automatically, before remembering he really shouldn’t say anything automatically when there’s a demon around. “I mean…”

“You’re welcome.” The smoke finishes clearing, and the demon smirks when Harry’s jaw drops. Ugly. He’d definitely heard ugly. Not the hottest person Harry’d ever seen, and he’d seen mermaids. The demon’s all dark skin with tattoos swirling over it, sharp features and big, dark eyes that seem like they hold more in them than should fit. The eyes, and the beauty, are the only indications that he isn’t human. Otherwise, he looks like a normal twenty-something man. A normal, naked, twenty-something man.

“You’re naked,” Harry observes. He tries to keep his eyes on the demon’s face–not his eyes, because there’s something about that that feels dangerous, but not the part Harry’d wanted to look at, that looks, well, large.

The demon laughs. It sounds like a nice laugh, not a demon’s laugh. If pressed, Harry might call it a giggle. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” The demon stretches his arms over his head. It’s obscene. Which Harry supposes makes sense.

“Could you put clothes on?”

“Yes.” The demon smirks.

Harry clears his throat. Right. Direct orders. He knows this. He remembers his notes. “Put clothes on. Please,” he adds, because he can’t not.

The demon sighs, but he snaps his fingers, and then he’s dressed, in ripped dark jeans and a tight black henley. He’s also dyed his hair in that instant, the tips tinged pink. It’s a good look for him–and very fashionable, Harry can’t help but notice. He wonders if there’s a way to keep up to date in the underworld. He needs to remember to ask Louis.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then.” The demon snaps again, and he’s, well, lounging is the only word for it. He looks comfortable, for someone in a summoning circle, at the total mercy of the caster. Maybe demons have different self-preservation instincts. “What would you have me do, master?” the way he drawls out the last word makes Harry’s cheeks flush. He’s supposed to be the one making people uncomfortable with ill-timed innuendos. He’s a little put out it’s working this well on him.

“I need, um. Well. You see, there’s this warlock. Or, no, really, there’s this owl. It’s the owl’s fault, I think. He messed up a delivery, and now, well, I wrote some things in it I probably shouldn’t. Not mean things,” he hurries to clarify, because that’s important. “Just, well. Explicit things. But I had sent it to this witch, she’s a nice girl, she was, you know, expecting it, except then the owl took it to the wrong person, and he’s…I guess you’d call him my ex? We went out for pastries a few times, which is ironic because I used to be a baker, but he was boring, you know? It wasn’t anything. But if he opens the letter, then he’ll think it’s something, and, he’s not, well…” Harry trails off, as the demon starts to laugh. “Hey, it’s important!” he protests. “I don’t know where it is so I can’t spell it back. I need you to go and get it.”

“You really shouldn’t share all that shit with a demon,” the demon tells him. His smile isn’t quite as smirky now. There’s something softer about it. He’s curling up more, even, less loungey. “That could get you in trouble.”

Shit. Harry’d known this would go badly. “Well, did it?” he demands.

“Nah.” The demon shrugs. “But you’re lucky I told Lou I’d keep an eye on you.”

“Lou?” Harry echoes. This was…not what he was expecting. None of this was.

“You didn’t think Louis gave you just anyone’s name, did you?” The demon gets up, shaking his head. “He was worried. Asked me to make sure no one bad snuck in.”

“So what, you’re friends with Louis?” Harry’s decided to focus on that rather than Louis’s apparent decision that he was incompetent.

Another shrug. “Guess you could call it that. We’re chill.”

“But…” Harry tries to figure out a good way to say it. “You’re a demon.”

“Not a good one.” The demon grins, and now it’s all just boyish delight. It’s the sort of smile Harry would be terribly charmed by, if he weren’t, well, a demon. “Sorry.”

“Probably a good thing.” Harry’s big enough to admit that. “But are you going to get my letter?”

The demon grins again, then snaps his finger and disappears in a puff of smoke. Harry can still feel the spell working, so he’s not worried he’s loose. And it’s only a second later that the demon appears again, a scroll in his hand. “Here you are. Your dirty letter is all safe and sound.”

“It’s erotic, it’s not dirty!” Harry protests. “Put it down. I’ll get it when you leave.”

“It’s pretty dirty.” the demon smirks again, knowing. “I liked the thing, with the fingers and your–”

“You read it!” Harry bursts out. He can feel himself turning red.

“Of course I read it.” The demon snorts. “You don’t have to be ashamed of yourself in front of a demon, babe. Nothing you’ve done I haven’t seen.”

“I’m not ashamed. I’m embarrassed. There’s a difference.”

“No? Not even of how you’d lick–” The demon cuts himself off, laughing, as Harry chokes. HIs tongue is doing obscene things somehow as he laughs. It’s not a fair combination, especially when he’s talking about what Harry wrote. “Don’t worry. Not like there’s anyone for me to tell. Well, Louis, I guess, but I think he knows.”

“You can go now.” Harry crosses his arms, resists pouting. He thought dealing with a demon would be tricky word games, not teasing. The word games might have been easier to deal with. “If you’re just going to make fun of me, and all.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The demon giggles again, then he sobers. “Just, if you’re going to summon anyone again. Do it just like Louis said, that same ritual, yeah? That’ll make sure you get me, not someone else.”

“I’m going to ask Louis if you really are his friend,” Harry warns. “If this is just some complicated game…”

“Go ahead and ask. Cross my heart it’s true.” The demon does, makes an X right over where his heart would be. “You’re just too cute to get eaten alive. Possibly literally.”

Harry doesn’t at all react to the demon saying he’s cute. He’s a demon. He lies. Harry knows that.

“Go away,” he orders, before he does something more stupid.

“See you later, babe.” The demon winks, then he’s gone, and Harry can feel the spell finish.

Harry lets out a long breath, and collapses back onto a stool. Cat finally decides now is the time to come over and press against his leg. The demon thinks he’s cute. The demon is cute. That is…not a problem.

Not a problem at all. And if Harry might need to summon a demon again soon, well. That’s pure coincidence.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Prompt: who ended up winning the fight in your zarry boxing ficlet? (Parts[1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215342), [3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215564), [4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215897))** _

Zayn wins. He’s just, in the end, a better boxer–maybe in a few more years Harry will be at his level, but he’s simply not right now. Harry seems sort of dead, after, as he’s led out of the ring by his trainer; he’d spent so much time building up to this one fight, this one moment, where he’d win, where Zayn would finally see him as an adult, as an equal, as someone he could love like Harry adored him–the fact of him losing never even occurred to him. 

Zayn finds him back in the locker room, staring at his hands. He’s bruised and beat up, but he still tries for a smile as he looks up at Zayn. “Guess we saw,” he says, and the fire’s died in his eyes. 

Zayn goes over, kneels down in front of him. He picks up the wet rag from next to Harry, and presses it to his knuckles. He’s so gentle. Harry loves his gentleness as much as his violence, loves the way he holds both inside him. “I told you,” he says, and brings Harry’s knuckles to his lips. There’s a question in it, or maybe an answer. “You didn’t have to win to win me.” 

Maybe not, Harry thinks, but somehow, this still feels like winning. 


	24. Chapter 24

_**Prompt: Finding the other wearing their clothes** _

“I swear, this isn’t what it looks like.” 

Zayn steps into his room, shuts the door behind him. “Um. I’m not sure what it does look like?” He surveys the scene in front of him. Harry has one of his leather jackets on, no shirt, and seems to be trying, through some miraculous feat of gymnastics, to get into a pair of Zayn’s skinny jeans. 

“Oh. Then it doesn’t look like anything.” Harry grins, wide and dimpling. If Zayn hadn’t known him so long, he might have been distracted, like he’s meant to be. As it is, he crosses his arms and waits. Harry’s not good at not living up to expectations, which means if Zayn waits long enough, Harry will say something. 

“Fine.” Harry sighs, and sits–or maybe topples–down onto Zayn’s bed. The jeans are still stuck around his thighs. “It was going to be a surprise for you.” 

“You falling and hitting your head?” 

“No.” Harry sticks out his tongue. “Me in your clothes.” 

“Okay.” Zayn…no, he’s still lost. It’s not unusual, because Harry is really fucking weird and Zayn loves him for it, but he doesn’t get this one. “Because?” 

“Because it’s hot? I love it when you’re in my clothes.” It’s true enough–Zayn steals Harry’s clothes, the not ridiculous ones, more often than not because it’s easier than finding his own, and he knows that Harry gets off on it. But also, 

“Yeah, but I fit into your clothes.” 

“Hey, I fit!” 

“Not into my jeans.” 

“You calling me fat?” Harry pouts, and Zayn rolls his eyes, but he goes over to the bed, sits down next to Harry. 

“Just stating a fact, babe.” 

“It’s not my fault you’ve got chicken legs and no ass.” 

Zayn pats his bare thigh. “I’m sorry my lack of ass is inconveniencing you.” 

“You should be.” Harry nudges him companionably with his shoulder, and they sit there for a moment. Zayn wonders, sometimes, how this became his life. How Harry did. He wouldn’t give it up for the world, but, _honestly_. 

“Wait, so, even if you did get the jeans on, what was your plan after?” Zayn asks, because he can’t not. “How was I ever supposed to get them off of you?” 

“Zaaaayn,” Harry whines, and then he’s laughing and shoving Zayn onto his back. “I’ll show you my plan.” 


	25. Chapter 25

**_Prompt:_ _Accidentally falling asleep together_ **

Liam’s the first one up in the morning, as he usually is. Six AM, he rolls out of bed, pulls on running clothes, and heads out of his room to fill up his water bottle before his run. 

In the living room, though, he pauses. After a year of living with the boys, he can read the room like an archeologist might read a set of ruins–the laptop on the table, the empty bowls with popcorn kernels in them. The beer bottles on the floor–just a few, maybe one each. 

And the boys on the couch. They must have tipped over sometime, because it’s a bit much to have been watching a movie like that, even for them. Zayn’s pressed against the back of the couch, still in the sweats he usually wears for lounging around the house; one arm wrapped around Harry’s waist like he’s keeping him on the couch. It might be, even; Harry’s precariously close to the edge, even though there isn’t any space between the two of them that Liam can see. Harry’s hair came loose, or it was loose, and it’s draped over both of them like something out of one of the paintings in Zayn’s books. The sun’s slanting over them both, turning Zayn’s skin to burnished gold and Harry’s flushing cream; their tattoos mix and blend where they touch. 

Liam manages not to roll his eyes, and grabs a blanket off the back of the chair. He shakes it out, then drapes it over both of them. He’s just getting it settled when Harry’s eyes open, just a bit. “Liam?” he yawns, and Zayn’s arm tightens on him, like he senses that Harry’s awake and might go away. 

“Go back to sleep,” Liam tells him, and Harry gives him a sleepy smile and lets his eyes close again, snuggles back into Zayn. 

Liam leaves them to it, letting himself out for his run as quietly as he can. Maybe they’ll get some sleep in before Louis wakes up and teases them forever. 


	26. Chapter 26

_**Prompt:** _ _**Reacting to the other one crying about something** _

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Zayn’s on his knees next to Harry, and Harry lifts his head, trying to swallow. He doesn’t need Zayn knowing how much those kids got to him. He’s sixteen, he’s too old to be crying under the bleachers because some kids called him stupid. 

“It’s fine, Zee. Go to class.” 

“Fuck that.” Zayn’s hands are on his shoulders, his cheeks, like he’s checking for injuries. Knowing Zayn, and why he tends to hide under bleachers, he probably is. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Why are you here?” Harry tries to smile, so Zayn knows it’s not serious. “Cutting class?”

“You weren’t in English.” Zayn doesn’t need to say the rest of it. That he was worried, about Harry. It makes butterflies start in Harry’s stomach, butterflies he’s been trying not to think about in connection to Zayn. “What happened?” 

“It’s nothing, Zee. I’m fine. Let’s go back to class.” 

“Who do I need to beat up?” Zayn’s on his feet suddenly, his fists clenched. “Just tell me, and I–”

“No one!” Harry protests, quickly. 

“I will, Harry. Really.” 

“I know.” Harry doesn’t doubt that, and there’s those butterflies again. But the fact is Zayn’s fierce but not big, and he wouldn’t stand a chance against the whole crew. Which wouldn’t stop him. Which means it’s up to Harry to make sure Zayn doesn’t get hurt. “You don’t have to beat anyone up for me, promise.” 

“Fine.” Zayn makes a mutinous face, like he wishes he could, then he crouches back down next to Harry. His thumb runs under Harry’s eyes, brushing away the tears, and Harry’s seen him do that to his sisters, he knows it’s not special–but he can’t help smiling a little. Zayn takes that as a cue to poke at where Harry’s dimple would be, then he’s smiling bigger. Zayn always makes him smile like that. 

“It’s a lie,” Zayn says suddenly, quiet and fervent. “Whatever bullshit anyone said. It’s a lie.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

Zayn glares at him, his jaw set dangerously, like he’d fight the world to prove it. “I do.” 

And there go those butterflies again, and Harry’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to not think about them. 


	27. Chapter 27

_**Prompt:** _ _**neck ties** _

“How do I look?” Zayn holds out his arms, and watches Harry flick his eyes up and down him. Slowly. Without saying anything. It’s stupid, because the responsibility Zayn’s about to take on is a lot more important than what his husband thinks of him, but he’s focusing on the little things now. Before he has to focus on the massive things. 

“Like the leader of the free world.” Harry smiles–not quite a grin, but it’s hard to grin right now. “Who can’t tie a tie himself, come here.” 

Zayn comes obediently, lets Harry fuss with his tie, straightening it. The soldiers are around them, not saying anything; outside; he can hear the speeches. The roaring crowds. They’re all here for him. Here to watch him take on the most important duty he’ll ever take, the most important oath–the only one more important than the one he swore to the man beside him, what only feels like yesterday. 

Harry keeps a hold of his tie when he’s done fixing it, glances down at Zayn. “Nervous?” 

“I already have the launch codes.” Zayn shrugs. “This is just a formality.” He laughs, as Harry just keeps looking at him. “Yeah. Insanely. You?”

“So much.” Harry snorts. “You get the easy job. I have to deal with the household.” 

“You don’t–”

“Zayn.” Harry cuts him off by tugging Zayn closer to peck at his lips. “I’m joking. Badly.” 

“Not that badly.” Out of habit, Zayn brushes a bit of hair out of Harry’s face. 

“Mr. President-Elect?” one of the Secret Service men–Zayn expects he’ll learn their names soon enough–steps in close. “Thirty seconds, Sir.” 

“Thank you.”

Harry still doesn’t let go, just fiddles a bit more with the tie. “I’m so proud of you. I don’t know if I’ve said it before. But I’m so proud. And I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Zayn tells him, because he has to say that first, before he goes out onto that stage. Then he turns to face the door, where an oath is waiting for him, one that will change his life forever. “Okay. Let’s go.” 


	28. Chapter 28

_**Prompt: Caring for each other while ill  (not a couple) but maybe end up as a couple?** _

“Harry?” 

“Why are you out of bed?” Harry pushes past Zayn, into his house. Zayn stares after him. He’s–fuck, his head hurts too much for this. To figure out why Harry’s in his house. Why Harry’s talking to him. Why Harry’s bustling into the kitchen, unloading things from his bag. “You should be in bed. Go to bed.” 

Zayn pushes his hair out of his face, tries to focus. Rhino’s barking deafeningly, so excited at this new person in his midst. It’s what convinces him most his fever hasn’t spiked and he’s not hallucinating, honestly. 

“Harry?” he repeats. It’s the only thing he can think. Why is Harry here? It’s so good to see Harry. And the Harry that he thinks of as his, too–not Harry in his tight jeans and open shirt, his hair done and his paparazzi smile on; but Harry in an oversized sweater and a beanie, frowning slightly at Zayn. 

“Come on, Zayn.” He puts his hand on Zayn’s elbow, and Zayn rocks away instinctively. It’s the first time they’ve touched in over a year. Harry lets his hand drop, but he doesn’t move away. “Zayn, you’ve got to lie down. You look really ill.” 

“Why are you here?” Zayn insists. He needs to know that. Then he can lie down and figure out if this is a fever dream. 

Harry bites his lip, like he’s figuring out the best answer. “You’re sick,” is what he comes up with. 

“How did you know?” It’s not the most important question, but it’s the only one Zayn can think of. 

“Your voice was scratchy on the radio the other day, then you went dark.” Harry gives a lopsided smile. “I know your tricks.” 

“And you came?” It’s not computing. Zayn wishes he was firing on all cylinders, wishes he was dressed in more than ratty sweatpants, wishes he could think. Could figure out what was really happening. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s hand is on Zayn’s arm again, and this time Zayn can just look at it, back where it used to be. “Bed, Zayn. Let’s get you upstairs.” 

Zayn lets Harry lead him upstairs, lets him tuck him into bed like he’s a kid again. He’s so tired. He’s so confused. 

“Harry?” he asks, once Harry’s turned out the light. Harry turns back to look at him from the hallway. He looks like a dream like this, backlit by the hall light. “Are you going to stay?”

Harry’s hand is on the doorjamb. His face screws up for a second, then relaxes into something like a smile, and Zayn wishes he could just figure out what any of this means. Maybe he will when he wakes up. Maybe Harry will be here, when he wakes up. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I am.” 


	29. Chapter 29

_**Prompt: cuddling in a blanket fort** _

Harry’s first clue should have been when Zayn greeted him in the kitchen, making that face that made his eyes especially big and his cheekbones hollow out. It’s the face he makes when he needs to get away with something. Harry knows that, and he still has a problem resisting it, which is something he’s working on. His second clue should have been Zayn kissing him almost before he’d gotten his shoes off, because Zayn is often affectionate but not often that pointedly. 

“You…might not want to go into the living room,” Zayn says, which is Harry’s third clue. And the one he gets. 

“Why not?” 

“Um. Well.” Zayn’s still stammering a bit when Harry brushes past him, down the hall, to look at their living room–and freezes. 

“Zayn.” he’s trying to keep his voice level. He’s not sure it’s working, but he gets points for effort, especially at a time like this. When his living rooms is a mess of chairs and blankets and moved furniture. “What happened to our living room?” 

“Well.” Zayn’s smile is dangerously like Louis’s. “See, I was getting nervous, you know, about, well–everything. And so I was sitting under my blanket, and it occurred to me, how sick blanket forts were? like, I used to make them all the time as kids–or my dad did for me–and they were the best. So I made one.” 

“Yeah.” Harry surveys the damage. the room’s a mess. Zayn’s somehow moved all the furniture, and who knows what the pins in the blankets are going to do to them. “Were you high?” 

“No!” Harry gives him an insistent look, but Zayn shakes his head again. “Really, I wasn’t. It’s just sick.” 

 “Your parents are coming tomorrow. So are mine.” 

“I know, I’ll take it down by then. I was going to take it down before you got here, but–”

“You fell asleep,” Harry finishes before Zayn can. “Zayn.” 

“It’s really comfortable! Really. Come here, I’ll show you.” Zayn grins, and bounces a little on his feet. One day, Harry is going to learn how to stand against how adorable he gets when he’s excited about little things like this. But today is not going to be that day. He sighs, loud and exaggerated, but he gets onto his knees and follows Zayn in. 

It is, Harry has to admit, a pretty impressive blanket fort. Zayn must have some before now undiscovered architectural skill, because it doesn’t seem especially rickety, and it’s tall enough that they can sit up comfortably, the light filtering through  a muted peach from the blankets above them. Zayn’s made a little nest of what appears to be all the pillows in the house, and he flops onto them, then reaches out to pull Harry in. 

Harry lets him, settles into the nest so he’s pressed into Zayn’s side, Zayn’s arm around him. It is comfortable. And relaxing. Almost womblike, in the best way possible. If there is a best way.  

“I’ll take it down,” Zayn mutters. He sounds a little guilty, like he knows it was a stupid thing to put up. 

Harry nestles into him more, turns his head to brush his lips against Zayn’s jaw. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist in here, and it’s just Zayn and Harry and nothing else matters. 

“Tomorrow,” he tells Zayn, letting his eyes close to the sight of Zayn’s smile. “We can take it down tomorrow.” 


	30. Chapter 30

_**Prompt: Patching up a wound (Parts[1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215342), [2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215450), [4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215897))**_

Zayn hisses as the bandage pulls tight around his knee. He’s used to that sort of pain by now, but it doesn’t make it hurt less–it just makes him not surprised by how it hurts. Harry’s hands don’t falter, and he doesn’t stop wrapping, but he’s frowning. 

“You should get someone to look at this.” His hands are hot on Zayn’s bare leg. They haven’t touched there before, in this slow inching thing they have, between matches and bruises. 

“No. Just you.” Zayn grits his teeth as Harry straightens his leg, slowly. He shouldn’t be letting Harry do this, even. He might end up fighting against Harry. Harry might be setting him up, even now. He’d pushed a fight with Zayn before. He could drop a weight class again and do it. Zayn knows he won’t, but he could. 

Harry gentles his leg back to bent, then looks up at Zayn. He looks out of place here, young and fresh and bright, in the graffitied dingy locker room. He shouldn’t be here. He should be somewhere clean and new, away from the blood and pain here. Zayn knows it’s mainly frustration talking, frustration and pain itself–he loves what he does, or he’s learned to, or he loves what he can give his family with it. And Harry loves it too, for different reasons; Harry fits here better than Zayn in some ways. Zayn knows that. But it doesn’t make him like the look of Harry against the locker room floor any more. 

“I think it’ll hold.” Harry’s hand strokes over Zayn’s bandaged knee. His own knuckles are a little swollen, probably from his own match. He’d won. Zayn had watched him, watched the power and the flash of him. It was beautiful, to watch him fight. Like a show in itself. That’s why Zayn had beat him, that once. To Harry it’s a show. To Zayn, it’s more and less at once. But Harry’s touch is still gentle. “You really should have a trainer–”

“It’s fine.” Zayn shakes his head, and starts to get to his feet. Harry scrambles up, slips under his arm to steady him. Zayn would push him away, insist he can stand on his own–except he’s not sure he can, and it’s less humiliating to take help than to ask for it. “I’ll be fine. Always am.” 

“Zayn.” Harry’s hand’s on Zayn’s cheek now. Gentle, so gentle. He watched Harry use those hands to punch a man’s face until he bled, today. But his hands are gentle on Zayn. It feels like so long, since he’s had gentle. And Harry’s gaze is gentle too, gentle and a bit scared. Of what, Zayn’s not sure, but it makes him want to comfort. “One day you won’t be.” 

He’s old. Zayn knows that. He’s getting older every day, slower. Each match is one step closer to the end of his career. Harry doesn’t feel that yet, he’s too new, but Zayn’s felt the encroaching feet of mortality too often, lately. He’s not old, not really. but he feels it. Feels ancient. Or his heart does, at least. 

“Not today, though. And not tomorrow.” Zayn bites back the hiss of pain as he puts weight on his leg. Harry doesn’t need to see that. “And probably not the day after that.” 

“Well.” Harry brings their faces together, presses his lips to Zayn’s. It feels like a promise. “I’ll always be here to make sure you are.” 

He looks so intent, so sure. So young. Zayn almost believes him. 


	31. Chapter 31

_**Prompt: Washing hair/long haired Zarry ,feel free to throw in a full shower** _

“I’m glad you grew your hair out again.” 

Zayn hums as Harry’s fingers card through his hair. Maybe he’s just has long hair for so long, but he’s good at this, at working through it with the comb and conditioner. 

“Short hair’s easier,” he points out, and keeps his eyes closed as Harry tugs a little. He knows he should have stopped the girls when they started braiding, but they were having so much fun. 

“Yeah, but this way we match.” Harry tugs at a particularly stubborn knot, then sighs as Zayn winces. “Although we might have to cut it off, now. What did they do to you?” 

“We were playing hair salon.”

“With your hair?” 

“Who else’s?” Zayn opens his eyes, to see Harry grinning at him fondly. He looks tired. Or maybe not even tired; just older. They aren’t twenty anymore, fucking around. But the age looks good on Harry. Not old, just–older. Old enough to be tired looking after his nieces for a weekend. “I’ll cut it off if I have to.” 

“No.” Harry’s firm about it. “No, I’ll get this out. My sister’s devil children will not make you sacrifice your hair.” 

“They just have a lot of energy.” 

“Yeah.” Harry’s silent for a moment, working through another braid. It falls apart, and Harry makes a satisfied sound, like he makes whenever he wins a game. “You’re good with them.” 

“They’re good kids.” 

“Yeah.” Harry’s mainly just combing his hair now. After a day of chasing toddlers, it’s enough to lull Zayn to sleep, even if he has to rinse off his hair, then should probably drag himself to bed. Sleeping in the bathroom isn’t really an option anymore. “Do you think about it?”

“Hm?” 

Harry’s hand falters slightly. “Kids. Having some.” 

Zayn opens his eyes. He needs to look at Harry for this. Harry needs to look at him for this, because this isn’t–they’ve talked about it before, but not like this. this feels concrete. Not castles in the air. They’re older now. It’s time, now. 

Harry’s eyes are big as he looks down at Zayn, nervous. Like he thinks Zayn’s going to shut this down. Which is pretty rich, given the amount of convincing Zayn had to do once just to let Harry put a name to their relationship.  

“With you?” 

“Well, the logistics of that sound difficult.” Zayn rolls his eyes, and Harry gives him a small, hopeful smile back. “Yes. With me.” 

“Of course.” Zayn doesn’t hesitate. 

“Of course?”

“Of course,” Zayn repeats. “You know I’ve always wanted kids.” 

“Yeah. But.” Harry clearly expected a harder conversation. “Things like this. Your hair. Don’t you want to be, like, carefree a little longer?”

“Do you?” When Harry doesn’t answer, Zayn shrugs, puts his hand over Harry’s. “I’m ready when you are, babe.” 

Harry lets out a long breath. “Soon, then.” 

Zayn can’t help his smile, how big and silly he knows it is. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Harry’s smile is more tentative, but hopeful. Excited too, Zayn hopes. “Now sit back down. I’ve got more knots to get out.” 

Distractedly, Zayn does, lets Harry go back to work with his comb. Soon. Soon. 


	32. Chapter 32

_**Prompt:** _ _**One falling asleep with their head in the other's lap.** _

“Hi, boys–oh.” Anne cuts herself off when she sees them. Zayn’s on his side on the couch, his eyes closed as Harry cards through his hair. Harry looks up, smiles at her. “Is he asleep?” she whispers. 

“Yeah, sorry. He’s been in the studio a lot.” Harry speaks at a normal voice. “Don’t worry, he won’t wake up.” He smiles down at Zayn, as Zayn nuzzles into his hip. “He’s out.” 

“I know you’re both so busy. I’m just glad you got down here.” Anne smiles at him. He knows they always make a picture together–it’s just a fact, they’re both attractive people and they’re attractive together–but his mom is looking at him differently. 

“Of course. We were happy to come.” They were. Even Zayn had been, though he’d gotten home from the studio about five minutes before they had to leave. Harry knows how that works. He’s lived that life too. He’s just glad Zayn is getting some sleep. 

He traces over Zayn’s cheekbone, watches Zayn’s eyelashes flutter just a bit. He looks relaxed, in sleep. Younger. In a way Harry loves to watch, which might be creepy but he doesn’t really care. 

“I like you together.” Harry looks up from trying to memorize, for the thousandth time, the line of Zayn’s scruff, to see his mother beaming at him. Her hands are folded over her lap, and she’s leaning back in her chair, her eyes soft. 

“So do I.” Harry grins. “So does Zayn.” 

His mother doesn’t indulge him. “You seem…more settled, with him. Like you’ve found your place.” 

Zayn lets out a little breath, and shifts. Harry smoothes his hand over Zayn’s hair, until Zayn quiets again. It’s been a long road getting here, but it feels right. Talking with his mother late at night, Zayn asleep next to him. Snapping at Zayn for being late but not really meaning it and Zayn knowing he doesn’t mean it. Listening to Zayn’s songs first, watching his enthusiasm light him up. Running lines with Zayn, Zayn making a game of it even when Harry’s incredibly frustrated. The pets Zayn keeps trying to convince Harry to get. Cooking together, sleeping together. Coming home to Zayn. 

“Yeah,” he says, and runs his hand over Zayn’s sleeping face again. Zayn’s smiling in his sleep. Harry hopes he’s dreaming of him, knows he’s safe here with Harry. “I think I have.” 


	33. Chapter 33

_**Prompt: there's this drabble you wrote ages ago that's really stuck with me and kind of comforts me when im feeling sad about how I look the one where Zayn helps Harry get ready for a date and tells him how beautiful he is when he starts to get insecure ... Was just wondering did they ever get together? (Part[1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7543255/chapters/17173873))** _

It happens soon after that, actually. Zayn’s had a crush on Harry since just about always, but he’d always figured that Harry isn’t into him–why else would he keep going on all these dates with other guys? But then Harry looked so unsure, and he had to speak up, and he’d expected Harry to push him away because that was crossing a line–but Harry hadn’t. And maybe that could mean something. 

So Zayn tries the water a little, and Harry doesn’t shy away, but he’s still going on dates. It all finally comes to head after a date, when Harry’s over at Zayn’s because he needed to complain about how badly it had gone. It feels natural, then, to finally ask, 

“So why do you keep on going on dates with all these losers?”

“They aren’t all losers!” Harry protests, but when Zayn reminds him just why they’re there, he admits, “Some of them sort of are. But they’re good guys. They could make me happy.” 

I could make you happier, Zayn wants to tell him, but he’s still not sure that’s what Harry wants. “You could do better,” is what he says instead. Because that’s true too. Even if it isn’t him, Zayn still has high standards for what Harry should have, because he deserves the best and sometimes it seems like he doesn’t know that. 

Harry sort of snorts at that, though. “No, Zayn. I can’t.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“That I’m not you.” Harry gestures carelessly at Zayn. “I’m not in that league.” 

That’s such bullshit Zayn doesn’t even know where to start anymore. “That’s not true.” 

Harry pushes his hair back, and Zayn watches his curls rearrange. He loves Harry’s hair, always has. “It is, though.” Zayn’s face must show how utterly unbelievable it is, because Harry keeps going. “Just, put it this way. Would you date me?”

“Yes.” It’s out of Zayn’s mouth before he thinks, but he’d say it anyway. It’s a fact. Of course he’d date Harry. 

Harry doesn’t seem to take it like that, though, because his jaw actually drops. “What?”

“Yes, I’d date you. Why wouldn’t I?” This time, Zayn gestures at Harry. “You’re you.” 

“Yeah, and you’re–you would?” Harry’s face is screwed up in confusion, like this isn’t anything he’d ever considered before. Zayn’s confused too, though. Of course he would. He’d been–he thought Harry just wasn’t interested. He’s not sure what this is, but he thinks it’s good. Harry doesn’t look disgusted by the idea, at least. “Really?” 

And that’s just it, because whatever Harry feels about Zayn, he’s gorgeous and amazing and he needs to know that. So he gets up, and he’s riding a wave of adrenaline so he doesn’t really think as he straddles Harry’s lap, over his thighs. Harry stares up at him, and he licks his lips. 

It’s that licking that decides him. “Really.” Zayn leans in, and kisses Harry. Slow and soft and sweet, like he deserves, with a bit of an edge to show how much Zayn wants him, because he deserves that too. “See?” 

“You–you’d–” Harry stammers. Then he blinks again, and smiles, his dimples so deep in his cheeks Zayn has to refrain from poking at them because that’d break the mood. “You would?” Harry repeats, and Zayn takes that as a good enough sign to kiss him again. 

It’s not all easy after that. Harry’s jealousy is a little much sometimes, because he’s still taking time to believe that Zayn really does want to be with him, and Zayn gets fed up with that sometimes because it doesn’t make sense to him, but–but it’s good. But nothing makes Harry feel as gorgeous as the way Zayn looks at him sometimes, and Zayn’s never happier than when he’s with Harry at last, happy like they both deserve. 


	34. Chapter 34

_**Prompt: Taking a bath together** _

“Really, Zayn? A rubber duck?” When Zayn doesn’t respond, Harry pokes him in the leg with his toe. “Zayn.” 

“Look at them, though!” Zayn glances up from his apparent amazement at the rubber ducks floating in front of him. “It’s superhero ducks. That’s sick, right?” 

Harry manages not to roll his eyes. Sometimes he forgets that his boyfriend is an actual child. Who would rather play with actual bath toys than take advantage of the fact that Harry is sitting at the other end of the tub, naked and wet and smelling very good, if the bath salts have anything to do with it. 

“Yeah, it’s sick, or whatever. Can you come here?” He opens his arms, because he would like to take advantage of his boyfriend being naked and wet please. 

Zayn pouts, his lips pressing together and out, and Harry knows he knows exactly what he’s doing but he can’t help that it also works on him. His cheeks are flushed from the heat of the water, his hair’s gotten just long enough it can curl a little around his ears, and his eyes are sparkling. “Can I bring the ducks?” 

“Kinky,” Harry retorts, and Zayn laughs, his tongue behind his teeth. 

“You’re the one who wanted to take a bath together.” 

“Yeah, because I thought…” Harry trails off suggestively, and runs his toe over Zayn’s calf. He’d thought that it would be fun, that they could light some candles and relax, and then once they were warm and relaxed they could find their way to the bed and have some slow, relaxed sex. Except of course Zayn had to be contrary. 

“What’s a bath without toys, though?” Zayn asks, his eyelashes fluttering innocently. It doesn’t hide the laughter in the corners of his mouth at all. 

“Are you setting me up for a dick joke?” 

Zayn snorts, grinning, and he finally moves, turning so he can settle against Harry. His back is slick against Harry’s chest, his hair tickling his shoulder. He smells good too. “You’ve got to admit, though,” he says, once he’s settled, “The toys are sick. Superhero ducks, like. That’s awesome.” 

Harry pushes one of the ducks away from Zayn’s chest. “You are such a child sometimes.” 

Zayn tilts his head back. He’s smiling, bright and open, and it’s caught in his eyes. “You think it’s cute, though.” 

Harry sighs, but Zayn’s sitting there grinning at him and he does love how Zayn gets over shit like this, how the smallest things can get him so excited. “I think you’re cute,” he tells Zayn, and kisses the corner of his lips, right where Zayn’s smiling. 


	35. Chapter 35

_**Prompt: "I swear it was an accident."** _

“Zayn.” Harry pauses at the door to the living room, looking in. He’s come back to some very interesting things, after living with Zayn as his roommate for a few years. Once Zayn and Louis had decided it was a good idea to stand all their furniture on end. Once Zayn had spray painted a canvas as large as their living room wall, in their living room. Once he and Niall had decided to sort out all Zayn’s comics into a complicated system that apparently took up all the floor. He’d seen Zayn lying on the floor stark naked, posing for one of his art friends, which was interesting on all number of levels. So he’s seen some unusual stuff, in his living room.

But this might still take the cake. Because on the floor, Zayn’s grinning sheepishly up at him. That in itself wouldn’t be unusual. But there’s a gold retriever puppy on his shoulder. And a bulldog puppy trying to eat his foot. _And_ a puppy of a breed Harry doesn’t even know in his hands, clearly just done licking his face.

It’s possibly one of the most adorable things Harry’s ever seen, Zayn in this pile of puppies. Harry’s sure he would appreciate it a lot more if it wasn’t in his living room.

“Hey, Haz.” Zayn grins, and scratches his hand over the head of the puppy in his arms. The one in his lap yips, clearly wanting more attention. “Good day?”

“Why are there three puppies in our living room?” Harry demands. He’d wanted a quiet night at home, maybe to get Zayn to give him a massage and have some mild emotional masochism mixed in because of Zayn’s touch. Not this.

“Um. I swear it was an accident.”

“An accident?” Harry repeats. He drops his bag onto the floor. The golden retriever, apparently deciding that Zayn’s lap is done being interesting, comes over to nose at it. “Three dogs are an accident?”

Zayn takes a deep breath. “Want to hold one?”

“No, I want you to explain.” The golden is tugging on the strap of Harry’s bag. He nudges it away gently, with his foot. The puppy barks happily. It’s not cute. Not cute at all.

“I think you should be holding one while I explain.” Zayn holds out the one in his arms, who takes one look at Harry, then barks unhappily. “Or not.”

“Zayn,” Harry says again. He’s maybe verging on hysterical now. “What happened?”

“Um. So, you know how I went to the shelter with Liam today?”

“Yes.” Harry had known that was happening. He didn’t see how that led to this.

“Well. I saw this one.” Zayn sets down the mutt to pick up the bulldog, who replies by wagging his butt enthusiastically and jumping on Zayn. The mutt runs over to the golden, apparently misjudges distance, and barrels into it. Zayn watches with a silly smile. “And he was so cute. Come on, Harry, look at him. You know we talked about getting a dog.”

“We talked about talking about getting a dog. We talked about maybe thinking about it,” Harry specifies. “And we were high.”

Zayn shrugs. “So we talked about it. But then. Well, the other ones are his best friends, Haz! I couldn’t just take one.”

“So you adopted all three?”

“Yeah.” Zayn lifts his head, and Harry knows that expression. Right now, Harry’s options are probably let Zayn have the dogs, or move out. And he really doesn’t want to move out.

“Are they house trained?” Harry sighs, as Zayn’s smile is blinding as he jumps to his feet.

“Yeah, promise! Or the shelter promised, anyway.” He deposits the bulldog in Harry’s arms. Harry fumbles a bit, but he manages to settle the squirming puppy, just as it starts licking his face. “They don’t have names, either, so we can do that. It’ll be great, I’ll take care of them, I swear. And think how much they’ll destress us!” He’s still talking as he leans down to pick up the golden retriever.

Harry runs a hand over its head. It is soft. And cute. And now Zayn’s holding two puppies, his smile glowing as he cuddles both of them.

So. Three puppies. Together. The bulldog is wriggling in his arms, and it’s adorable, Harry can admit. Three dogs. Three dogs with Zayn.

The golden retriever has gone quiet in Zayn’s arms as he pets it, staring adoringly up at him. Harry has to smile at that. At least he won’t be the only one looking at Zayn like that now.


	36. Chapter 36

_**Prompt: "Marry me?”** _

“No, this is a great idea!” Harry’s more than a little drunk, which is probably why he’s so earnest. Zayn is also more than a little drunk, which is probably why he’s laughing instead of doing the thing he’d probably be doing sober, which is walking away. “Come on, it’s the perfect solution!”

“It would solve absolutely nothing,” Zayn tells Harry, trying to shove at his head. He thinks he gets more hair, but that’s the price he pays for using the most comfortable pillow in the room–Harry’s thighs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It would solve all our problems! You can get better housing, it’d be easy.”

“I think there are easier ways to not be in the dorms,” Zayn observes, but Harry puts his finger over Zayn’s lips to shush him. Zayn nips at the finger, and Harry pouts at him. It’s a pretty pout. He’s very pretty. He’d make a very pretty husband. Their babies would be very pretty.

“How could it be easier? We’d just have to put on rings, right? Or something? That’s easy.”

Zayn finally manages to move Harry’s finger. “And what do you get out of it?”

“You.” For a second, the silence stretches on, that word ricocheting around the room. You. It echoes in Zayn’s head.

Then Harry laughs, bright and loud, and Zayn pushes that word aside. “And I get into married student housing too, Zayn. Have you seen those beds? I’d marry someone a lot less good looking than you for those beds.”

“That doesn’t–”

“Sh!” Harry hushes him again, then he’s grabbing at his fingers, tugging off one of his rings. “Sit up.”

“Why–”

“Zayn,” Harry whines, and Zayn groans but lets Harry pull him up so he’s slumped against the couch instead of Harry. It’s convenient, because it means Zayn can take another swig of whiskey on his way.

Harry waits until he’s situated, then he looks very intently at Zayn. Or Zayn thinks he’s trying to. It’s all a little blurry and Harry’s eyes are a little hazy. His hand wavers as he holds out the ring. “Zayn. Marry me?”

Zayn laughs, and doesn’t think about how the words echo in his head again. “Sure, Haz. Whatever you say.” He takes the ring, slides it on. It fits well, he thinks–then suddenly he’s got a lapful of Harry Styles, tackling him back onto the couch, because apparently,

“Got to seal it with a kiss Zaynie, now pucker up!” Zayn’s giggling uncontrollably as he bats at Harry, trying to stop him. If this is marriage, he thinks, it’s not all bad.


	37. Chapter 37

_**Prompt: "Kiss me.”; “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”** _

“Zayn?” Zayn had just gotten to bed, so the knock doesn’t quite wake him up, but it’s a close call. A close enough call that if it were anyone else calling for him, Zayn would probably have ignored it. But it’s Harry, so,

“Yeah?” he calls back. “Come on in.”

Harry pushes the door open. He’s just in his boxers, his hair loose like it is when he sleeps. It makes Zayn smile just to see it, because he has a problem, but at least he keeps his gaze on Harry’s face. “Sorry. But, can I sleep in here tonight?”

“Sure.” Zayn’s saying it before he thinks, scooting to the side. Maybe that should have been slower. But it’s not like the five of them haven’t done this before, and Zayn knew the price he’d pay for getting the only single.

“Thanks.” Harry turns away to set something on his phone and put it on the bedside table, and Zayn can’t help it, now–his gaze skirts over the broad planes of Harry’s back, down to his waist, over those long legs. Just one look. He rations it like that sometimes. One look. One touch. It’s not creepy if it’s just one. If he lets Harry initiate it. If he keeps it above the waist. “Somehow Niall sexiled me when I’d gone to the bathroom.”

“He works fast,” Zayn agrees, and pushes back farther against the wall so that Harry can slide into the bed. He’d invested in a queen bed, because Zayn takes his beds seriously, but Harry’s still closer than he has to be, even on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“And the bastard didn’t even tell me. Walked in and he’d got his head between her legs.”

Zayn snorts out a laugh. Only Harry and Niall.

Harry laughs too. In the darkness, the voice is rich and full, filling the room. “I’m telling Louis tomorrow. See how he likes that.”

“Can we not start another prank war?” Zayn asks. It’s not that he minds the house prank wars. It’s more that when Niall and Harry get into prank wars their pranks are less funny and more just…incomprehensible. Then he and Louis get involved, because it’s too pathetic not to help them, and then Liam’s dragged in because they don’t want to leave him out, and in general it’s more work than it’s worth, especially with finals coming. “Please?”

“Just for you, Zaynie.” Luckily it’s dark, so Harry won’t see the besotted smile Zayn gets at that. Harry yawns, arches his back to stretch. “It’s not even really that. It’s just been a while.”

“I’m sure.” Zayn doesn’t bother hiding his skepticism.

“It has!” Harry protests. “Feels like forever since I’ve had a good fuck.”

Zayn clenches his fists, hard. Hard enough to ground him. “Poor you.”

“I know.” Even in the dark, Zayn can see Harry’s lips turn up into a smile. “It’s not even the fucking I miss, though, you know? it’s, like, the intimacy. Kissing, and that.”

Zayn thinks he hums. Probably. He’s not even sure he has the brainpower for that. Especially not when Harry rolls onto his side, so he’s facing Zayn. “I like kissing. Just, losing yourself in the other person, you know? Maybe a bit of beard burn, a bit of teeth. That’s the best kind.”

“Uh-huh.” Zayn’s voice is hoarse, even on those syllables. Harry’s lips are pursed, and they look so kissable. Zayn would kiss him. Would kiss him, and give him all the intimacy he wanted, all the cuddles and sappy shit and whatever he wanted. Anything. All of that.

“It’s good, right?” Harry looks at Zayn, and there’s something considering in his gaze. “Kiss me.”

Everything in Zayn freezes. “What?” it’s not a squeak. It isn’t.

“You should kiss me,” Harry repeats. Now he is smiling, satisfied, like he gets when everything’s working out his way. He scoots a little closer to Zayn, hooks an ankle over Zayn’s under the blankets. “Come on, Zayn.”

“Um. What?” Zayn repeats. His mind’s a blank. He thinks it whited out.

Harry’s still smirking, and his hand’s on Zayn’s hip now, rubbing circles against the skin there. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. You want to kiss me, so do it.”

If everything in Zayn went blank before, now it goes very, very cold. Of course Harry knew. Of course he’s been laughing at Zayn and his stupid, pointless crush.

“You’re an asshole,” he snaps, and pushes back the blankets so he can get up.

“What?” the smirk’s fallen from Harry’s face, so just confusion is left. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Zayn can’t be here. “Just because I’ve apparently made a fool of myself around you doesn’t mean you get to use that when you’re horny.”

“Fool–use–Zayn!” Harry looks properly shocked, but that’s just how he responds to criticism, Zayn knows. To being called out. And Zayn can’t do this, not when he’s humiliated and hurt. “No, that’s not–”

“I’ve got some self-respect,” Zayn tells him, once he’s scrambled over Harry. He snatches his own phone up. “And so I’m going to sleep on the couch. You can have the bed.”

“No, Zayn, I didn’t mean–” Zayn lets the door swing shut on Harry’s last protests, and throws himself down onto the couch. It’s a little too short and definitely uncomfortable, but it’s better than being in that bed with Harry. Harry, who Zayn wants so badly, and in so many ways, and is apparently enough of an asshole to use that fact, and Zayn wishes that could make him love Harry less.

Zayn groans, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about it. He wants to forget this ever happened.

When Harry comes out a few minutes later, murmuring his name, he pretends he’s asleep until Harry sighs, drapes a blanket over him, and disappears back into his room. 


	38. Chapter 38

_**Prompt:** _ _**“You did all this for me?”** _

“Close your eyes.”

“This sounds dangerous.” But Harry closes his eyes anyway. “Did you take me here to kill me?”

“Yeah, that was my evil plan all along. I’ve been playing the long game for a year.” Zayn’s voice is dry in his ear, then his hands are on Harry’s hips, guiding him out of the car. Despite what Harry said, Zayn’s good at guiding him. There’s some sort of metaphor there, Harry thinks–about how Zayn cares for him, or something. One of those things Harry doesn’t think about, because it’s not supposed to be what they are. They’d started this thing together as fooling around, and no matter how incendiary the sex still is, no matter how sure Zayn’s hands are on Harry as he leads him wherever, no matter how Harry likes to see Zayn smiles more than most other sights in the world–they’re still just fooling around. A lot. With no one else, Harry’s pretty sure, because if Zayn was hooking up with someone else Harry might have to quietly make them and Zayn disappear.

“What are we doing, then?” Harry asks, pushing that thought away. “If you wanted to have fun with blindfolds you only had to ask.”

“That’s for later, babe.” Zayn’s voice is a purr, and yeah, okay. Harry likes the sound of that. He deserves birthday sex. It’s his right.

But right now, he’s getting led somewhere over what feels like concrete, then Zayn pauses him to pull what Harry thinks is a door. A wave of heat rushes out–not hard, when outside is still February chilly. But this heat is wet and warm, feels weirdly like summer. “Zayn?” Harry asks, and Zayn’s hands squeeze reassuringly.

“It’s okay. Just come right…” he guides Harry through a door, into that heat, “Here. And. Open your eyes.”

Harry does–and it’s like he’s in the tropics. The botanical gardens, he knows, but it feels like more than that, all lush green and bright colored flowers–and tables, filled with his friends and family, all the people he loves, grinning at him.

“Surprise!” Louis shouts, and that gets everyone else to start shouting it too, until it’s almost too loud for Harry to hear when Zayn murmurs in his ear,

“Happy birthday, babe.”

“You did all this for me?” It’s not computing. It’s so amazing, and it’s not computing, because this is so much more than Harry ever expected.

Zayn shrugs, but he’s grinning proudly. “Well, you said you wanted to travel but didn’t have the money, so…yeah. It’s sort of like you traveled. But with everyone here.”

“Zayn.” It’s amazing. it’s the best birthday party Harry’s ever had, or at least since he was really impressed by clowns. It’s far more than what you do for someone you’re just messing around with. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s your birthday. You’ve got to be spoiled on your birthday.”

“Well, I feel very spoiled.” Harry glances to his side. Everyone important is here, his parents and his friends and everyone he cares about. They should probably talk about this, him and Zayn–Zayn spent money on this, probably more than he had, and if he’s doing that then they need to talk about what they are, what they’re doing. If they want to go where Zayn seems to be taking them. If Harry wants to say the words.

But now is not the time. Now, Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s neck, brings him close, and kisses him in front of everyone, because this is the best birthday present he’s ever had.

Zayn kisses him back easily, casual, but he holds on when Harry would step away, after the catcalling (Harry suspects his sister, but he’s not sure) stops them. “This is only half the present,” Zayn murmurs.

“Zayn,” Harry warns, and Zayn chuckles, the sort of chuckle that makes Harry’s ears prick up in anticipation.

“Just saying. You did mention blindfolds…”

“Stop teasing!” Harry whines, but then he’s laughing as Zayn guides him over to his family. He watches as Zayn greets his mother with a hug, Robin with a handshake. He fits there, Harry can’t help but think. Maybe–just maybe–he can keep fitting.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Prompt: “Don’t you ever do that again!”** _

Harry’s buzzing. It’s a wild, hot buzz, that lifts him up, makes him feel like he’s back in the air, floating high above the world, watching it from the sky. Up there, it had just been air and the parachute (and the instructor Harry was strapped too, but he’s ignoring that). It’s a rush like nothing he’s ever felt before, even if he’s on the ground again.

He grins at Liam, who’s grinning back, clearly just as buzzed. This was the best idea ever. He wants to go back up. Wants to go back up to that place where everything is calm and easy and he’s on top of the world. Where everything else is just specks, the cars and people and everything else. It puts his life into perspective, being up there. Finds the things that matter, the things that he needs to say. The things that–

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Zayn nearly knocks Harry over when he bowls into him, grabbing his shoulders tight enough to hurt. His face is pale, his eyes a little wild, which Harry thinks might be a bit rich, given his contribution consisted entirely of driving along with them then sitting in the lodge while they went up and probably going back to sleep, but it’s beautiful. He’s always so beautiful. He was the most beautiful speck of a person when Harry was up there, which means something, Harry figures. That was one of the things he’d found, up in the sky.

“Zayn–”

“Never,” Zayn snaps, fierce. He shakes Harry a little, like Harry needed that to pay attention to him.

Harry can’t help his smile. He’ll blame the adrenaline. “But it was fun! You’ll have to go with me next time–”

“No.” Zayn actually shudders. “And that was–fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about what could happen to you…”

“I feel very loved,” Liam mutters, but Harry ignores him.

“It was perfectly safe, Zayn.” He runs his hands down Zayn’s arms, over the goosebumps there. Not even this can disrupt his buzz. Can disrupt his determination, because every nerve of his is alive right now and it’s all pointing in one direction. “Zayn–”

“It was not perfectly safe, do you know how many things could go wrong? And if one did, you’d just–and I’d–” Zayn shakes his head, then suddenly, before Harry can process it, he’s kissing Harry.

It’s a shock like jumping out of the plane had been, that first feeling of Zayn’s lips on his. Hot and intent and Harry doesn’t get more than a taste before Zayn’s pulled away, his face somehow even paler, if it were even possible.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean–I was just scared, Haz–”

Harry presses a hand to his lips. They don’t feel different. They should, he thinks. Because he’d decided up in the sky that there was one of those little specks of people who mattered more than any other, and now he’d just kissed Harry, and it’s really Harry’s day today. He needs to go skydiving more, if this sort of thing always happens afterwards.

“You,” he says, his hands on Zayn’s face to draw him closer, smoothing out the worried wrinkles on his face with his thumbs, “Should do that again.”


	40. Chapter 40

_**Prompt: “Looks like we’ll be trapped here for a while…”** _

“Let us out!” Zayn yells at the door, smashing his fist into it. “Stop being an asshole, Louis–”

“Nope!” Louis’s voice comes back, from the other side of the door. There are giggles there too, which means it’s more than just Louis. Of fucking course. “You’re staying in there until you kiss and make up.”

“Or work out whatever has had you fighting,” Liam adds. “We need to be able to hang out together. So work it out.”

Zayn spares one glance over his shoulder, at where Harry’s taken a seat on the bed, his long legs kicked out in front of him. He seems utterly unconcerned by what’s happening. He probably is. He probably doesn’t give a fuck that he’s locked in with Zayn.

Zayn channels every bit of anger into making his voice as dangerous as he can. “Let me out.”

“Not until you two can talk again. We’ll check back in in a little while.” There are the sounds of footsteps, and they really are walking away. Leaving Zayn here. Leaving him locked in this room with Harry.

“Well. Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…” It’s the first thing Harry’s said since they were shoved in here.

“Brilliant observation,” Zayn retorts. Harry, of course, has claimed the most comfortable seat, so he sits at his desk chair. “Thanks for the help, by the way.”

Harry shrugs. “I know a lost cause when I see one.”

Zayn winces. Harry always had been a vicious little prick when he wanted to be.

“They’ll have to let us out eventually, we can just sit here until they do.”

“And hope we don’t have to piss,” Harry observes, and Zayn doesn’t laugh, he doesn’t. He doesn’t laugh at Harry’s jokes any more.

Instead, he turns to his desk, picks up the top sketchbook. It’s an older one–his latest is, of course, out in the living room, because why would anything work out conveniently for him?

“Are you really just going to ignore me until they come back?” Harry sounds, as always, vaguely amused by this prospect. Zayn’s hands clench around the edges of the sketchbook, then he opens it resolutely. The sketchbook is only about half full, but it’s obvious why he abandoned it. Harry stares up at him from every page–Harry grinning at him, Harry bent over his books, frowning in concentration, Harry at an open mike night, Harry laying naked on Zayn’s bed–the bed he’s currently sitting on–smirking coyly up at Zayn. Zayn flips to a blank page. He doesn’t want to see that shit.

“Seriously? You are?” Harry asks again.

“You made it very clear what you wanted from me,” Zayn snaps. He picks up a pencil from his desk. “I’m giving you that.”

“I didn’t say we couldn’t be friends.” For the first time, there’s emotion in Harry’s voice–tiredness. Like he’s the one tired of Zayn’s shit. “I wanted us to be friends, still.”

“Well tough.” Zayn slams the book shut, so he can glare at Harry over it. Harry’s giving him his most innocent look, like he couldn’t ever understand why he’d ever make Zayn mad. It’s the look that irritates Zayn the most, as Harry very well knows. Harry knows exactly what he’s doing. “I can’t fuck someone for six fucking months then go back to what it was before.”

“It was seven months, actually,” Harry corrects primly, and Zayn thinks he might actually growl.

“Like you care.”

“Of course I care. I care about–”

“Don’t say it.” Zayn cuts himself off. He can’t sit down any more. He’s on his feet instead, circling the room as well as he can while giving Harry and the bed a good ways away. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I care about you,” Harry finishes anyway, and Zayn wishes he could punch Harry. Wishes that, after all this time, he could bring himself to punch Harry. “More than you do about me, apparently.”

“What?” Zayn spins, so he is facing Harry this time. “Why would you say that?”

“You cheated!” At least there’s some actual fucking emotion from Harry this time, his voice cold and sharp. “You don’t do that when you care about someone!”

“For the last fucking time, I didn’t cheat! You were the one who didn’t want to tell anyone, it wasn’t like I could tell her why I couldn’t go on a date with her.”

“If you hadn’t wanted to, you wouldn’t have. I know you, Zayn.” Harry’s smile is almost painful. “You don’t do things you don’t want to. So you wanted to go on that date.”

He’s not wrong. Not really. Not because Zayn had wanted to cheat on Harry–and he _hadn’t_ , no matter what shit Harry chose to believe about him–but maybe he’d wanted to punish Harry again. To get him to understand the price of keeping their relationship secret.

“Well, at least I cared enough to want to tell people about us!” Zayn snaps back, because he can’t argue that one. “Not like your rich boyfriends who’d you rush to tell everyone about–”

“Give the class thing a rest! It wasn’t that!”

“Then what was it?” Zayn demands. It’s all spilling out, every thing he hadn’t managed to say when Harry had very calmly informed Zayn that they were over and Zayn was too broken to argue, every thing he’d kept in for the last month of avoiding Harry when he could and sniping at when he couldn’t. “Why wasn’t I good enough?” Harry’s eyes are wide, and he’s leaning back, like finally, finally, Zayn’s managed to get him. Managed to hurt him, like he’d been hurt. “What more did you want from me? What–”

“Nothing!” Harry takes a loud, long breath. “I didn’t want anything more from you, Zayn.”

“Good, because I would have given you everything.”

“I know.” Harry looks down at his hands. “That’s why.”

“What?”

“You–do you know how scary that is?” Harry pushes his hair away from his face as he looks up. “I know how you work, Zayn. You get so invested so fast. I don’t do that. I had to slow you down.”

“Slow me down?” Zayn echoes. He knows he falls into things too fast, but he’s never been punished for it like this. “And you couldn’t just have told me that, maybe?”

“You wouldn’t have listened.” Harry gives him a wry smile. “You know you wouldn’t have.”

“So you broke up with me because you decided that you didn’t want to go in after all? That I was too much?” Zayn stalks to the other end of the room, then back. “Thanks for that. Feels great. Great work keeping me uninvested. I suppose it worked after all, though, didn’t it? You got to have me then dump me with the least inconvenience to yourself. ”

“I broke up with you because you cheated!” Harry’s on his feet, suddenly. Zayn wishes it could make him hurt less, knowing Harry did–it’s what he’d wanted, to hurt Harry as much as him, but it doesn’t. It just hurts more. “I broke up with you because you cheated and it broke my heart!”

“I didn’t cheat!” Zayn takes a step forward. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, if he really is going to punch Harry this time. “I went out to dinner with her, and then I told her I couldn’t do any more, and we left–”

“You kissed her!”

“I–” Zayn starts to protest, then he stops. Thinks for a second. “How do you know that?”

Harry’s cheeks are red, but his jaw is set. “I saw you.”

“You saw me?” Zayn repeats. “Did you follow me?”

“My boyfriend was going on a date, I wanted to see!” Harry takes his own step forward. “And I saw you kiss her, then go inside.”

“I had to use the bathroom.”

“Sure. See her etchings, maybe?”

“I–” Zayn’s trying to remember. He barely remembers that night, really. It hadn’t been a big deal. A nice girl, a nice dinner. Thinking about Harry back at home, how maybe he’d realize that this sort of subterfuge wasn’t work it. He’d walked her home, because he’s got sisters and he wasn’t going to let her go home alone, and then–then what had he done. Had he kissed her? Maybe. He remembers a peck, maybe, before he’d let her down? Or no, it had been before that, even–she’d joked about wanting to know what she was missing, or something, and Zayn hadn’t really seen the harm. Then he’d used the bathroom, and gone home. “I beat you home that night,” he remembers. “You didn’t get in for a few hours after I got back. What did you think–”

“I know how fast you can move.” Harry spits it at him. “So get off you can stop lying, and I can stop pretending I don’t know you were lying, and we can pretend the whole thing didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t cheat.” Zayn doesn’t know how many more times he can say that. “I didn’t cheat. As you’d know if you’d talked to me about it instead of stalking me and breaking up with me!”

“I–”

“Or,” Zayn goes on, not letting Harry get a word in, “Not starting this if you knew I wasn’t what you wanted, or at least breaking up with me when you knew that instead of leading me on!”

“You are what I want!”

Zayn stares. Harry stares back, his face a little shocked, like he can’t believe he said that. Zayn can’t believe it either. He’s waited so long for Harry to say that. Just that.

“Are?” Zayn’s voice cracks on the word.

“You are what I want,” Harry repeats. Slowly, like he’s tasting each word, thinking about it. “I knew that, by the end. I wouldn’t have stalked you if I hadn’t. Then–you kissed that girl.”

“I didn’t cheat, I swear.” Somehow, Zayn’s taking a step closer to Harry. “We can talk to her, if you want, if it’ll prove anything. I didn’t. I just wanted to make you jealous, really.”

“Good job with that.” Harry’s voice misses sarcasm by a good amount. “You broke my heart, with that.”

“I didn’t think you cared enough for that.”

“I did.” There’s an ache in Harry’s expression Zayn knows too well. It’s probably on his own face right now. “I do.” He takes a step towards Zayn. They’re almost close enough to touch now. “Do…do you?”

Zayn looks at Harry. He’s everything Zayn’s wanted, even when he was furious and heartbroken. But Harry’s not wrong. Zayn does get invested fast, and he’s already too far down the rabbit hole with Harry. “I won’t be a secret. I can’t. Not anymore. I won’t do this if you’re only in halfway.”

“I–”

“Okay, time for a check in!” The door crashes open, and Harry and Zayn both jump as the other boys appear in the doorway.

“Have you talked it out yet?” Niall asks.

“We can lock you in more if you haven’t,” Louis warns, dangling a key from his finger.

Zayn looks at Harry. Harry looks at the boys.

Then he grabs Zayn and kisses him hard, like a declaration and a promise all in one.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Prompt: "Wanna bet?”** _

“Him?”

“Yes, him.”

“No, it won’t work!”

“Wanna bet?”

“I think you already did, dude.”

“But–”

“Go on, go!”

Harry has gotten good at ignoring the whispers around him. Or if he can’t ignore them, be amused at them. Sometimes the rumors that circulate around him are annoying and insulting, but often they’re just funny. He really wants to know who started the kidney one, so he can congratulate them on their imagination. But these whispers aren’t particularly interesting, so he is mainly ignoring them, until suddenly there’s two kids standing in front of his lunch table. One of them he thinks he’s seen around before, a sharp faced boy whose face is set in a permanently sarcastic look that Harry sort of respects. The other Harry knows he hasn’t seen before, a earnest puppy of a boy that makes Harry want to ruffle his curls and tell him it’ll be okay.

But he doesn’t do either of those things, because they also look like they’re about to bolt, which is funny in it’s own right. “Yes?” he asks, patiently, and takes another bite of his cucumber and dill sandwich. The brown eyed boy stares at the sandwich like it might be some sort of chemical or something.

“Is it true you once sold your kidney for drugs?” the sharp faced boy demands. Harry snorts.

“No.”

“I only have one kidney,” the brown eyed boy pipes up. The sharp faced boy gives him a ‘shut up’ sort of look. Harry manages not to roll his eyes.

“What do you want?”

“We have a proposition.” The sharp faced boy pulls out the perennially empty chair across from Harry, and sits down. Most people don’t dare do that. Harry’s a little impressed. “I’m Louis. This is Liam.” He gestures at the nervous looking boy. “We have a, well. A business proposal of sorts.”

“Okay.” This sounds amusing.

“Liam here,” the same gesture. “Is in love.”

“I’m very happy for you,” Harry tells him, politely. It looks like it terrifies him more. What are they telling new kids about Harry these days, honestly? “Is it with me? Because I think I’d eat you alive.”

“No!” Liam yelps. Harry smirks. “Not that–I mean, you’re very attractive, but you aren’t my type–I mean–No.”

“Break my heart,” Harry drawls. Liam looks about a second away from ducking and covering. “Then what does it have to do with me?”

“The thing is, he’s in love with Niall Horan.”

“So?”

“So, apparently Niall isn’t allowed to date until his stepbrother does.”

“Still not seeing what I have to do with this.”

“We want you to ask out his brother.” It comes out of Liam all in a rush.

“His brother?” Harry repeats. This is. Well. Interesting. “Why me?”

“Do you know Zayn Malik?”

Harry snorts. Who doesn’t know Zayn Malik? Who doesn’t know the perfect combination of devastating good looks, self-righteous anger, and smarts? Harry’s spent many a pleasant English class looking at the back of Zayn’s head and wondering just what it would take for him to shut his mouth for once. He might have also spent some time wondering what made him so angry, wondering what it would be like if he was sweet and soft like Harry has vague memories of him being years ago, before Harry took the year off. What it would be like to have that, too. “Yes.”

“That’s Niall’s step-brother,” Liam explains. “And, well. We thought that you were, um, I mean, not everyone–”

“That you could handle Zayn,” Louis says, bluntly.

“So you want me to risk life and limb and probably castration to take out a guy so Liam here can fuck his brother?” Harry asks, keeping his face blank. This is the most fun he’s had in weeks. “What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t want to fuck–”

“We can pay you,” Louis cuts Liam off, and Harry can’t help his laugh this time. He’d have done it for free, maybe, because this sounds amusing and Liam seems like a good kid and also, well, Zayn, but some money he could send to his mom wouldn’t be bad.

“Well then.” He stands up, and Louis starts back in his chair, while Liam stumbles backwards. “Looks like you got yourself a deal.”


	42. Chapter 42

_**Prompt:** _ _**'we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and i don’t know how to act around you anymore wtf'** _

The ring of the doorbell is unexpected. It’s not that no one ever comes to visit Harry, because quite a few people do, but they also usually warn him, and no one had. Harry’d been looking forward to a morning alone—or an afternoon alone, really, because he’d slept later than usual after the shitshow that was last night. He just didn’t think he could deal with people when his head was throbbing and the only thing he could so was drink his tea and try to will the sun to being a little dimmer. He wasn’t sure when he’d gotten old enough that he got hangovers like this, but maybe it had something to do with how he hadn’t gotten as drunk as he’d been last night in years. 

The doorbell goes again, and shit, right. It better not be fans. No fans have ever really come to his door, there’s too much security for that, but today would be the day they got through. Harry yawns and runs a hand through his hair, hoping it’s not utterly horrid, and heads towards the door. Whoever it is interrupting his hangover can deal with him in sweats. 

He isn’t expecting anyone, really—but he’s certainly not expecting who it is standing on the doorstep. 

“Zayn?” he asks, louder than he meant to, and then rubs at his temples as they throb. He really shouldn’t have drunk so much last night—but it’s Zayn. He still looks just as good as he had last night, when Harry’d noticed him as soon as he walked in, his hair black and long again, in the headband phase Harry’d loved. It’s all his fault Harry feels like this, really, because Zayn had caught his eye and smiled at him, a bit hopeful and a little bit with that stubborn pride Harry knows too well where he was refusing to make the first move, and Harry had known he was going to talk to Zayn and known he needed to have more alcohol before he did. It’s one of he last things he remembers clearly—that smile. 

“Hey.” Zayn rubs at his ear, but he’s smiling, that shy little smile that always made Harry want to hug him then tell him jokes until it bloomed into a proper smile. He just woke up—and of course Harry’s traitor mind knows that. It’s still having problems figuring out what two plus two is, or remembering last night, but it knows what Zayn looks like when he just woke up. He wishes he was surprised. 

“Hey!” Harry tries out a smile. Zayn hasn’t—he knows they live close to each other, but they don’t just drop by, not like this. Harry needs warning before he sees Zayn. Not so he can be cordial, but just, he needs the time to keep his emotions in check. 

“I, like, sorry to just drop by. But, I thought…” He’s still smiling, and Harry doesn’t really know what smile this is and he doesn’t like that fact. He likes to think that at the heart of it, he still knows Zayn. “Um. Can I come in? We should probably talk inside.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Harry steps back, and Zayn comes in. It’s not the first time Zayn’s been in his house, but it feels like it is. It feels weird and not weird all at once, and that in itself is weird—how much Zayn seems to fit in here, in his dark jeans and oversized jumper that he’s worrying the sleeve of, that shouldn’t fit with Harry’s aesthetic but does. “Want tea?” 

“Nah, ‘m good. Your head alright?” He wanders into the kitchen anyway, leaning against a counter. 

Harry laughs. He wishes he was surprised Zayn knew he was hungover. “Not really.”

“Come on, babe. I remember a time when you could party all night then do an interview in the morning and a show in the afternoon,” Zayn retorts, teasing and grinning fondly, and Harry’s head hurts too much for this, for Zayn. For Zayn here teasing him like they’re what they were eighteen months ago. 

“I grew up,” Harry tells him, and makes a face as he slides onto a stool. “Unfortunately.” 

“Yeah.” It ends that. Zayn rubs at his ear again. His sleeves have fallen over his hands, a little too big, and Harry tries not to wonder about whose jumper that is that’s so big. It used to be his, sometimes Liam’s but Liam didn’t wear those sorts of clothes, so generally his jumper that Zayn would nick then look warm and cozy in, like he was wrapping himself in Harry. Now maybe it’s someone else’s. It shouldn’t still hurt. “Um, sorry to stop by, like I said, but I thought we should talk.”

“About what?” There’s a lot there. 

“About…” Zayn’s head tilts, and his eyes narrow. “About, like, last night?” Fuck, Harry hopes he didn’t do anything too embarrassing. He can imagine it now. He could have yelled at Zayn, could have hugged him way too long, could have started going on and on about his eyes and his eyelashes and his lips and his cheekbones like he did sometimes. Could have spent the whole night glaring at Zayn, really. 

Some of that confusion must show on his face, because Zayn’s eyes go wide. “And you don’t remember last night, do you?”

Harry has to shake his head. “Last thing I remember I was doing shots with Jeff and Glenne. Did I do anything too bad?” 

Zayn snorts, and runs his hand back through his hair. It gets stuck at the headband, and Harry has to smile as Zayn untangles his hand, with the air of a cat pretending it didn’t do something clumsy. “Ah, no. Like, not bad. Just. We talked. That’s. I mean. You don’t remember?” 

“No.” This is weird. Zayn doesn’t stammer like this. Zayn looks…sad, about it. What did Harry do? How did Harry mess up the first time they’re really seen each other in over a year? His first real chance to get Zayn back? “Did I say something? I’m not—it doesn’t matter what I said drunk, I’m really not mad at you.” 

“No, it wasn’t—you were just very you. And, like.” Zayn licks at his lips, and like every time he has for the past five years, Harry wonders if he knows what he’s doing when he uses that nervous tic. “I’d…” he shakes his head again. “Never mind, I’ll go.” 

“No!” Harry’s head might ache and he might feel disgusting, but he is not letting Zayn walk away again. Maybe the hangover will function like the alcohol. “No, don’t—have tea, come on. Have you had breakfast? Or lunch? We can have lunch.” 

Harry doesn’t know the look in Zayn’s eyes when he looks at Harry, his head tilted, a single lock of hair falling into his eyes. He’s almost too pretty for Harry’s hungover brain. It’s not fair. “You were really that drunk last night?” 

“Sorry.” Harry shrugs. “Did I miss anything important?”

“No.” Zayn bites at his lip, his teeth making perfect little imprints, and Harry didn’t think he’d had any dreams about Zayn recently because he usually remembers those, but he has a sudden flash of those lips on his skin. “Nothing important, like.” 

—

Zayn stays for tea. Zayn has tea, and then they just hang out, and it’s—it’s weird and it’s not weird and both at once. It’s still Zayn and he still knows how to tease Harry and how to talk about nothing at all with him and they talk about old friends and he shows Harry pictures of Brooklyn and Harry show shim pictures of Lux, and they talk about how Louis’s dealing with fatherhood, and Harry admits how many times he’d listened to Zayn’s album which makes Zayn do his sheepish laugh and look away even as he grins, and it’s just—Harry’d known he’d missed Zayn. But he’d forgotten it was like this. Even if its different. Zayn keeps looking at him weirdly, and a few times he touched him offhand then drew his hand away like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to anymore, but that’s distance, Harry figures. Of course it would be a little weird. 

Finally, Zayn gets up with a groan. “I need to get home,” he announces, and Harry’s almost certain it’s reluctantly. “Have to feed Rhino.” 

“I see how it is. The dog is more important than me.” 

Zayn grins, and Harry’d forgotten how amazing it felt when he made Zayn laugh. “For sure, babe. He’s my baby, yeah?”

“Fine.” Harry huffs out a breath, but he walks Zayn to the door. 

There’s a moment, when Zayn pauses on the doorstep, when he turns back to Harry like he’s going to say something—but then he just shuts his mouth, shakes his head. “It was, like. Good to see you, Haz.” 

“Yeah.” Harry gives him his most charming smile. “You could come back sometimes, you know. Hang out more.” 

“I—” Zayn presses his lips together, then nods. “Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks.” 

“Of course.” Then, because it’s weird that they aren’t, that they’re saying goodbye without it, Harry grabs Zayn and pulls him into a hug. Zayn’s tense for a second, but then he relaxes into Harry, and they fit like they used to, and Harry breathes in and he smells like Zayn and Harry’s missed him so much. 

—

He does come back. It’s weird, because he comes back and it’s good. They hang out and Harry goes over to Zayn’s and they talk as Zayn graffitis and Harry meets Rhino and assures Zayn he’s definitely the cutest dog he’s ever seen. It’s different, of course, and sometimes Zayn seems to forget that they’re them and he can cuddle with Harry and sometimes he gives Harry these weird, unsure looks, but Harry doesn’t really mind. It’s probably best, because he can feel himself falling into Zayn as surely as he did four years ago, and now there aren’t all the other barriers that had kept him from drowning in it. But Zayn’s still Zayn, and Harry still wants all of him, and the friendship is still enough, or has to be. 

The press gets wind of it eventually, and the fans, and that’s fine too. Everyone’ more excited than anything that they’re hanging out, and once there doesn’t feel like a reason to keep it quiet they don’t. They go get lunch, and they wait for each other to sign things and take photos when they have to, and Harry makes Zayn go with him to the farmer’s market because all his other friends refuse, then Zayn surprises him by actually buying things and making them dinner that night. Harry watches him cook from the island after being shooed away, in jeans and a t-shirt, singing quietly to himself as he cooks. His voice picks up quickly, rising higher as he riffs up and down, and Harry claps as he finishes a particularly impressive one. Zayn turns around, laughing, his cheeks flushed from the heat and his eyes doing that thing where they sparkle—and Harry realizes, if he hadn’t before, that he’s in love with this Zayn too. 

It doesn’t change anything, because Harry’s not going to mess this thing up, and Zayn’s still being weird sometimes, hot and cold or something, but it’s good to know, he figures. Good to know so he can control himself when Zayn smiles at him and Harry wants to kiss him, when he comes over to force Zayn into a late morning activity and Zayn pouts and whines and Harry thinks about how he could coax him into a better mood. 

—

Harry throws a party just because, and Zayn ends up helping because he lives nearby and so it’s easy, and also maybe a little because it all feels very domestic and easy and them, setting out drinks and food and dodging around each other and Harry laughing as Zayn smacks at his bum to get him out of the way. When Zayn makes noises about leaving once it’s set up because they aren’t his friends really, though, Harry shushes him. 

 

It turns out to be a big mistake, Harry realizes. Not because Zayn makes a scene or his friends don’t like him, but because they do. Harry introduces Zayn around and then leaves him when he’s gotten into an intense conversation about art to go say hi to some people. When he next looks around, Zayn’s still in conversation, but now he’s smiling his lazy, come-hither smile at a pretty girl he’s chatting with. 

It’s not like Harry owns him or anything. Zayn’s a flirt, as much as Harry is, and he wouldn’t blame anyone for flirting with Zayn, because he’s Zayn and you have to try. But while Harry’s fairly certain Zayn’s never lacking for sexual partners, he doesn’t want him to find one at a party with Harry. When this party feels like theirs, more than just Harry’s. And anyway, Harry never claimed to be a particularly good person. 

So he makes is excuses in his conversation, then goes over to Zayn. 

“Zaaaayn.” He’s not drunk, just a bit tipsy, but it’s easy to pretend he’s worse off than he is. It gives him an excuse to sling an arm around Zayn’s waist and pull him closer, to rest his chin on Zayn’s shoulder and give his cheek a sloppy kiss. Zayn tenses a little beneath him, but Harry puts that up to the surprise of having a Harry suddenly leaning on him. “Are you enjoying yourself?” 

“Sure, babe,” Zayn replies, reaching around himself to ruffle Harry’s hair. Harry doesn’t exactly glare at the girl he was flirting with, but he does make sure his hand is very clearly around Zayn’s waist. “You throw a good party.” 

“With your help,” Harry clarifies. Then, because he doesn’t want to let go of Zayn. “Come on, there’s more people I want you to meet.” 

He keeps a hand on Zayn as he leads him away. It might not be healthy, but it’s fun—having Zayn with him, Zayn’s hand sliding across his back as Zayn pushes up to whisper something to him, Zayn’s body next to his. It all feels very boyfriendly, in a way Harry doesn’t think about because Zayn’s hand always falls away, because sometimes he seems to remember something and take a step away. 

Eventually, though, Harry realizes Zayn’s glass is empty and so is his own. He keeps one ear on Glenne as she describes the island where she and Jeff spent the last month and leans in to whisper, like they have a thousand times on stage or in interviews or just together, “Do you want more to drink?” 

“I’ll get it.” Zayn turns to him, and it’s normal, how close they are, how close their lips are, but Zayn jumps back, like he’s surprised. “Um. You want the same?” 

“Yes please!” Harry decides not to be offended at how jumpy Zayn is, and instead gives his waist a squeeze as Zayn leaves. 

When he looks back at Glenne, she’s smiling like she does at romance novels. Harry rolls his eyes. 

“I’m glad you guys worked it out,” she says, and Harry rolls his eyes again. 

“It’s never been bad, you know.” She should, at least. “We were always fine.” 

“Yeah, but it could have gone very wrong.” She sips at her drinks. “I’d hoped it wasn’t just a hook up, because of how you talked about him, but—”

“Hook up?” Harry interrupts her. The other part isn’t important, but, “What do you mean?”

“Just that making out doesn’t always actually resolve everything, so I’m glad it worked for you guys.”

“Making out?” Harry echoes, blinking. He—“We haven’t made out. Or hooked up. We’re just friends.” 

“I can keep a secret, Harry.” This time, she rolls her eyes. “I haven’t told anyone yet, figured you’d want to keep it quiet. It’s fine. No one’s paying attention.”

“Glenne.” Harry swallows. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you, it’s fine,” she repeats. “At that party a month ago? I wish I’d had a chance to talk to you about it but then we were gone and I figured if there’d been a problem Jeff would have known.” 

“A month ago?” Harry repeats. That was—he hasn’t gone to many parties, but a month ago is that one where he’d seen Zayn. Where he’d seen Zayn and gotten so drunk he can’t remember that night, and then Zayn had shown up the next morning, wanting to talk. Because—oh, fuck. “Excuse me.”  

He doesn’t know what Glenne says in response, doesn’t know if he talked to anyone between the patio and the kitchen where the drinks and Zayn are. All he knows is Zayn is pouring a drink into a cup, and he’s there and apparently Harry has kissed him. 

Zayn must sense him staring or something, because he turns, smiling with those pink pouty lips Harry’s had on his and can’t remember. “Hey, I was going to bring—”

“I need to talk to you.” Harry’s hand is on Zayn’s wrist before he can think. It’s like he’s on autopilot as he pulls Zayn away, out of the party and into the closest room that isn’t full of other people, which happens to be the library. Of course it’s the library. It fits somehow. 

“You okay?” Zayn asks, but he’s biting on his lip like he’s nervous. Harry’d always figured, if he’d ever kiss Zayn—and he’d daydreamed about it plenty, after playing around on stage, after pulling girls together and watching Zayn press her against the wall—there would be fireworks, and he’d remember it. Definitely.

Except he doesn’t, and he wants to, and it has to mean something, and Harry doesn’t want to be cautious, not right now. He takes a step forward, cupping Zayn’s face in his hands, and kisses him before either of them have a chance to think. 

And oh, there are the fireworks. There’s the feel of Zayn’s lips, the quiet gasp Harry swallows, the softness of his lips, the way his hand slides around Harry’s neck to keep him close. It feels like coming home and  waking up and falling into a dream, and it feels like lighting Harry’s skin on fire and every fevered daydream he’d ever had after Zayn had come too close on stage. 

When they separate, Harry doesn’t let them go far, keeps his hands on Zayn’s face as he watches Zayn blink, slow and astonished. “What—”

“I’ll remember that one,” Harry tells him. He thinks he’ll remember it forever. 

“Oh.” Zayn’s eyes go wide again, losing the dreaminess. “You—”

“Glenne saw, told me.” Harry doesn’t want to let go of Zayn ever, and Zayn isn’t moving away for once. “You didn’t tell me.”

Zayn shrugs, but he’s got the expression he gets when he’s going to do something unpleasant no matter what anyone tells him. “You didn’t remember it.” 

“Because I was drunk.” 

“So then you only kissed me because you were drunk,” Zayn retorts, quick like he’s thought about this a lot. “Or I’d taken advantage of you ‘cause I didn’t notice how drunk you were. Or like, it was some fucked up revenge, to kiss me before saying anything real to me in over a year then not remembering.” 

“It wasn’t revenge.” Because he can, because Zayn’s not moving away, Harry leans forward, pecks once at his lips. “You didn’t take advantage.” Another peck. “And I might have only done it because I was drunk, I don’t remember why, but I want to do it sober too.” 

“Yeah?” Harry can feel Zayn’s face change under his hands as he smiles, his tongue pressed behind his teeth, and he’s known Zayn for almost six years and he’s fairly certain he’s been in love with every version of him he’s known. Even ones that didn’t tell him about how he’d kissed him and had instead acted weird for a month. “Really?”

“Really,” Harry confirms, and leans in to kiss him again.  


	43. Chapter 43

**_Prompt:_ _“I want you. I want you when I pass old churches & dream of my back against them & your mouth on my neck whispering christ.”_ **

Harry’s not religious. Sometimes he feels like people think he is, because he’s interested in them, but he’s not—he doesn’t believe, not really. Not in fate or karma or any of those things, and not in God or Christ or any of those things. He wishes he could, sometimes, wishes he could have that comfort, but he just—he wasn’t raised that way, and he can’t find it in him. But he’s always been intrigued by faith, the trappings and the heart of it. By old churches with their pews worn by years and years of people coming to worship, by the vaulted cathedrals he’s seen in his travels, where people thought they found God in the colored light. By how Zayn would take the time, not always but sometimes, when he was feeling lost or unsure or pensive.

Harry would watch, sometimes, at how Zayn’s face centered, as he knelt. It was wrong, maybe, to think of him as beautiful then—to think about the calm of him, in that moment, to see how each muscle relaxed, how he bowed his head like Zayn never did otherwise, and the line of his neck as he did. Harry never watched for long, when he did at all; more likely he’d leave the room, settle outside of it so he could make sure no one else went in. And after—Zayn would come out, and look at him, and his smile would be sweet and bright, and Harry’s heart would flutter like he tried to pretend it didn’t.

He remembers that smile for a long time. Remembers the quiet surety in his voice, when Harry’d once asked him, in one of their late night conversations, curled on a hotel bed together somewhere Harry doesn’t even remember, how he could believe when there were so many things about him that his religion said he shouldn’t do.

“It’s not about that, like,” Zayn had said. He’d scooted up onto the bed a little, so he was sitting up, and it made the moonlight shine in from the crack in the curtain and onto his face, gilding it in silver. He looked like some sort of angel carved from marble, beautiful and distant as he stared somewhere far away. “It’s, that’s just the outside, you know? Some people want it, like it, but for me, like—Allah loves me.” He shrugs, but there’s no doubt in him. “That’s the heart of it, and that’s what it means to me. Everything else is a way to get to that.”

“But—how do you know that?” Harry’d asked, quiet like he’d break a spell otherwise. He was young still, then, younger than he knew, and so unsure about everything with it.

Zayn still wasn’t looking at him as he answered, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I have faith.”

Harry’d thought of protesting, of saying that didn’t make sense, of asking how—but something in Zayn, then, had made that seem wrong, blasphemous, with Zayn’s face alight with moonlight and his gaze so far away.

Even then, Harry hadn’t like his gaze so far away. Hadn’t liked it when he wasn’t looking at Harry. And so instead of asking more, he’d pressed his face into Zayn’s side until Zayn had looked at him again, laughing when Harry poked at his skin, and he was looking at Harry again.

It’s that that Harry thinks about the most. Zayn had faith. Had faith and courage, and the drive to use them both. Harry doesn’t have that faith. He’d wondered on that X Factor stage if that was it for them, the loss a knife in his heart; he’d wondered when Zayn left, what would happen; wondered again a year later, about what would come. Whether he could face what was in front of him, if he’d falter. If it was right.

And he wonders now, with the air through his hair, with Zayn smiling in the seat next to him, as they speed through the wide open spaces of the California highways. There isn’t a point to this drive, not really—Harry’d woken up anxious, restless, and not even the press of Zayn’s skin against his back as he slept or the feel of his breath against Harry’s neck could soothe him. So instead he’d woken Zayn up with soft, slow kisses, coaxing him awake until he smiled at Harry, so sweet and bright, like Harry had never thought he’d get again, months ago, and then fed him coffee and pushed him into the car, so they could drive.

It’s silly, really. Unsafe, and Harry knows it, to just drive like this with no security or anything. They’re still everywhere, even after everything—as Zayn flicks through the radio he laughs as he switches past his solo, ignoring Harry’s pout because he loves to hear it, loves to see how far Zayn has risen on his own. But he’s not entirely sad when Zayn settles on a different station, where neither of their voices could appear. Zayn’s made it, has found his place, and he looks so happy now, staring out the window with his hand over Harry’s on the gearshift between them and his cheeks flushed with the air whipping past them. So happy and steady and sure, and Harry flips his hand to intertwine their fingers, because he’s happy, but he doesn’t think he’s steady or sure, not now. Not with so much unsure.

“You okay, babe?” Zayn asks, his voice a soft hum over the music, and Harry nods. He is okay. He’s okay right now, with Zayn next to him, flying fast over the road. Happy that he has this, even if they barely ever say what it is, other than the two of them like they’ve always been. Other than the flutter in Harry’s stomach that only Zayn’s ever been able to bring out, and the look in Zayn’s eyes when Harry catches him watching him, which looks a lot like love.

He just doesn’t know what it is, really. Doesn’t know if it will last once Harry finds something else to do, if he ends up moving away from LA, if he never finds anything else to do and Zayn is the only success from One Direction. If he fails the expectations everyone’s always had for him, to shine brighter than everyone. Would Zayn still want him then? Would Harry still want himself?

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Pull over, look.” Zayn gestures with his free hand, and Harry glances away from the road to look. It’s a little ways off the highway, a building in the middle of nowhere, one of the many you pass on the road. “Let’s see what it is.”

“It’s probably a barn.” Harry doesn’t want to stop, he wants to keep driving forever, to leave everything he doesn’t know behind.

“Let’s find out.” Zayn rolls his eyes, but he squeezes Harry’s hand, then brings it to his lips. “Let’s walk a while, babe.”

“Fine,” Harry sighs, but Zayn’s lips burn against his hand, and yeah, stretching his legs would be okay. Exploring a little. He doesn’t know when Zayn was the one who wanted to explore and he was the one who needed to be urged into it, but he doesn’t mind Zayn’s methods of convincing.

He pulls off at the next exit. It’s all back roads and a few dirt paths, but Zayn pulls out his phone for the map and they make it close enough to see the building, a weathered old wood building that looks like it might fall over if you pushed it hard enough.

“I think it’s a church,” Zayn announces, as he opens the car door. He slides his phone back into his pocket, and lets go of Harry’s hand to get out. Harry’s hand is cold, without Zayn’s in it, but he gets out too. He’s worn utterly the wrong shoes for this, his boots not made for walking over rough ground like Zayn’s Doc Martens, but Zayn’s grinning and takes his hand again to pull him along, and Harry can’t help but laugh as he goes too, as Zayn catches him when he stumbles.

It is a church, as it turns out. Old and abandoned, definitely unsafe, with all the prayer books and everything else long taken to a new location, but it’s definitely a church. There’s a hush to it, a sort of reverence that never really leaves a place where once people  prayed. Where you can still see the rows of benches and the altar.

“This is cool,” Harry murmurs. It is, exploring and finding new things, new places. He’d forgotten, in trying to run away, in his doubt, how much he loved this. Zayn hadn’t though, of course he hadn’t. He’d known Harry needed to find it again.

Zayn hums, but when Harry looks over, he’s not looking at Harry. He’s looking up, into the rafters, where the sun’s shining in and turning the dust to shimmering motes of gold. And Harry think, somehow, of that hotel room, of Zayn’s face like it had come from a Michelangelo painting. He’s older and sharper now, has lost and found his way, had broken Harry’s heart and healed it again. But it’s the same look, and the same certainty, and the same utter, quiet belief in every line of his body. And just like years ago, Harry wants him to look at Harry, not be so far away.

It’s easy to turn them, to press Zayn’s back against the wall, to muffle Zayn’s laugher with his lips and kiss him like he can absorb him whole through that alone. To trail his lips over all that gilded skin, to trace the line of his jaw and down his neck, murmuring words he doesn’t know against Zayn’s skin.

“Babe,” Zayn laughs. He’s still quiet, because noise in this place seems wrong. “We’re in a church, we can’t—think there might be lightening or something.”

Harry snorts, but presses a final kiss to Zayn’s jaw, before he pulls away enough to look at Zayn, right at him, like he can lose himself in eyes that look as gold as a Byzantine saint’s. “I love you,” he says, and they’ve said it before but it feels like it means more, whispered in this quiet church for a god neither of them quite believe in.

He loves Zayn more for the way he knows that, for the way his response isn’t flippant, as he runs a hand back through Harry’s hair, gentle. “Love you too, Harry. Always”

“How do you know?” Harry asks, hating himself for the need, but he doesn’t know, he wants to know, to be sure. To know where his life is going, to know what will come. To know he gets this man he’s loved for so long forever.

Zayn smiles, soft and sure, with light shining on his face. “I have faith.”

He draws Harry back in with a hand on his neck, and they kiss and kiss until Harry’s head is nestled in the crook of Zayn’s neck, Zayn’s hand stroking his back. He breathes in, feels himself steady. He doesn’t have faith, not in his future, not in an unknowable God. But he can have faith in this, in Zayn’s faith, in this. In them.

 


	44. Chapter 44

_**Prompt: I always thought you were weird for carrying an umbrella in the snow, but now it’s snowing REALLY hard and we’re going the same way** _

The snow’s coming down hard. Zayn glances out the windows of the library, at the nearly pure white obscuring the paths outside, then down at his bag. His leather bag. With his computer inside of it. He’s so screwed. It wasn’t even supposed to snow today; Liam definitely would have told him if it was, made him bundle up more.

He glances at his watch next, but it tells him the same thing it told him five minutes ago, when he’d packed up from his desk in the stacks and made his way back to the doorway—he has to get home in time for dinner, and he has no way of knowing when this will stop. Fucking hell, but it’s going to be a miserable walk.

A familiar snort makes him look away from contemplating his misery. A few feet away, clearly not having noticed him yet, are a recognizable pair of gold snow boots and massive down coat, the curls peeking out around the hood. He’s digging in his bag for something, and Zayn hates himself a little, but beggars can’t be choosers, and he doesn’t want to risk his computer.

“Harry!” he grins, and sidles over. Harry jumps, nearly trips; Zayn reaches out to steady him instinctively. Through the jacket, he can’t even feel the warmth of Harry’s skin, and it’s probably best that way.

 

“Hey Zayn!” Harry grins, deep enough Zayn clenches his fists to resist poking at his dimples. He’d used to do it easily, whenever Harry smiled at him like this, but now he doesn’t trust himself. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“I’ve been buried.” Zayn runs a hand back through his hair, gives Harry a quick glance. Sure enough, he sees what’s in his hand. “Going home?”

“Yeah, family dinner. You too?”

“Yeah.” Zayn glances at the snow. “It’s really snowing though.”

“It is,” Harry agrees, slowly. He’s giving Zayn that look, the one that seems to pierce through him, to burn in him, that makes him wonder—but he can’t wonder. Not now.

And anyway, he can see the moment when the light dawns in Harry’s eyes. “You want my umbrella.”

“I don’t want your umbrella,” Zayn corrects immediately. “I’m just not dressed for it.”

“You want to use my umbrella! You’ve always called the umbrella in the snow stupid.” Harry crows. Zayn winces internally. Harry’s the worst when he’s winning. “And now you want it, don’t you? You’re trying to snag my umbrella.”

“I just don’t want my computer getting wet,” Zayn mutters, and rubs at the back of his neck. He wishes Harry wasn’t also glowing while he gloated. “It’s still stupid.”

“Do you want my umbrella?” Harry asks. He holds it out, so it hangs from his hand, in all its yellow duck glory. “You need to ask, if you want its shelter.”

“Can I walk home with you?” Zayn asks, instead. He doesn’t want to admit he needs the umbrella, because it is stupid and weird to use an umbrella in the snow. Umbrellas are for rain, not snow; it’s that simple. It’s one of the more minor weirdnesses that make up Harry, but it is weird.

“Under the umbrella?” Harry prompts, smirking.

“Under the stupid weird-ass umbrella.” Zayn grits his teeth and repeats. He’s never going to hear the end of this.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Harry clucks his tongue. “The umbrella might be offended. Maybe I won’t let you under it.”

Zayn lets out a breath. He’s not going to claim the umbrella isn’t weird, but he needs it right now, and he wants to get home and make Louis make him some tea. It’s time to call out the big guns.

“Hazza,” he starts, and widens his eyes, letting his shoulders curl in and his head dip a little so he can look at Harry through his eyelashes. He doesn’t usually love how small he’s built, but it comes in handy sometimes, like now, and he tries to suck in his cheeks just a bit, so he’ll look a bit more drawn. “Can I please use your weird umbrella so I won’t get soaked and freezing when we walk home?”

Harry’s eyes are wide too, and he blinks. Zayn manages to pout instead of smirk. Harry might be the master of the puppy dog pout, but never let it be said Zayn can’t manage it.

“You’re dangerous,” Harry mutters, shaking his head like he’s waking up. “Yeah, come here.”

“Thanks babe.” Zayn moves in close to Harry, and before he lets himself think about it he presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. His skin is warm, like Zayn knew it would be, and he is not going to think about it. “I didn’t know it was going to snow.”

“Clearly. Do you ever dress for the weather?” Harry asks, as they step outside. Zayn’s immediately hit by the cold and the wet, snow blowing into his face, but it is better than it would be if he didn’t have the umbrella, he has to admit. “Do you have a coat?”

“I have one, didn’t know I’d need it.” Admittedly, going out in just a sweater might not have been the best idea, but it really hadn’t looked like snow when Zayn had left, and he hadn’t been fully caffeinated. “At least I don’t look like a marshmallow.”

Harry sticks out his tongue. It’s nearly as pink as his cheeks, and Zayn should not be noticing that. Like he shouldn’t be noticing how cute Harry’s nose is, all pink, or how there are snowflakes caught in his hair like little stars. “I’m prepared against winter. I don’t try to rebel against it.”

“Only a few more months,” Zayn says, more to himself than to Harry, as he dodges a slush pile. He puts a hand on Harry’s arm to steady him as he hops over it, then they fall into step again. They’re good at falling into step again.

“Few more months,” Harry agrees, sighing wistfully. “Then LA.”

“And sunshine,” Zayn adds, with probably the same note in his voice. He’s been looking forward to that since they made the plan—not moving even farther away from home, but he’s dealt with almost four years of being an ocean away from his family, he can deal with an ocean and a country, for the sunshine and warmth of LA and adulthood. “You can run around in your bathing suits all the time.”

“I don’t think my work would like that,” Harry muses, and Zayn chuckles. He really shouldn’t have mentioned that, though. The bathing suits Harry favors, short enough that Zayn has to force himself to look away, the yellow one that makes his arse look so good and his legs look infinite and Zayn should not be thinking about that.

He swallows, clears his throat. “Fine, all the time you’re not at work.”

“Yeah.” That sigh again. “Are you going to get into a bathing suit too?”

“Not in the water.”

“You can wear a bathing suit for other reasons,” Harry points out. He’s not looking at Zayn. “Tan, and stuff.”

“But don’t you say it’s better to tan naked? Maybe I’ll do that,” Zayn retorts, before he thinks. He thinks he hides his internal choking. At the very least, Harry’s distracted, because he’d tripped over what Zayn thinks is nothing at all and Zayn wraps a hand around his elbow before he manages to fall or drop the umbrella. He doesn’t fall, but the umbrella waves a little bit, so Zayn’s head’s outside of it. He makes a face at the snow that starts to collect on him immediately, but he lets Harry get his feet.

“Fuck, Zayn,” Harry swears. “You can’t just—oh, shit, sorry.” He moves the umbrella quickly, so it’s covering Zayn again. “Now you’re all snowy.”

“It’s okay.” Zayn shrugs. “Long as my computer isn’t.”

“But you’ll freeze.” Harry pauses, holding the umbrella up a little he can face Zayn under it. Zayn can’t help how he turns his face into Harry’s hand, as it brushes the snow out of his hair. His fingertips should be cold, out of the fingerless gloves, but they feel like they burn against Zayn’s skin, and Zayn—he closes his eyes, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t, if Harry’s right there with his cheeks flushed and his pink lips and his care. “How are you not cold?”

“Dunno.” He needs Harry to move. He needs Harry to never move, for them to stay under this umbrella forever, with the snow around them like it’s cutting them off from the world.

“You look like you’re already freezing.” Harry’s fingers trail across his cheeks, poking his nose, and Zayn—he can’t do this, he can’t. He’s been trying to push this away, and he can’t when Harry’s acting like this.

“You’ll just have to keep me warm,” Zayn replies, opening his eyes with a smirk. Playful flirting, ironically, is the easiest way he knows to interact with Harry. “You have enough coats.”

“Always room for you in them,” Harry agrees. He’s not so close anymore. Zayn shouldn’t be so devastated by that. “Seriously, though, come here.” He opens his arms, and Zayn isn’t strong enough not to tuck himself into Harry’s side. It is warmer there. “Let’s get home.”

“Yeah. Can’t get frostbite,” Zayn agrees.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, the easy silence that Zayn has with Harry, even if no one else believes that. Usually he loves it, but he can’t help but think about a few months from now, after graduation, when there won’t be the snow to keep them together. When it will be them and the sunshine, and all the spaces to explore. All the new things, new places. How different it’s going to be.

They make it to the apartment door, and Zayn pulls it open as Harry shakes out the umbrella, then ducks inside after him. It’s warm inside, and Zayn can hear the other boys talking in the kitchen, family dinner already being made. They’re going to go in, in a second, in to the warmth of their little family here, and Zayn will look at the boys who are supposed to be his brothers and hate himself for how he can’t help but feel.

“Haz?”

“Yeah?” Harry looks up from where he’s tugging off his boots. His face is screwed up a little, as he tries to pull it off while standing on one foot and not getting his socks wet.

“Just—you’re the cutest marshmallow,” Zayn mutters. It’s stupid, but he just… he has to say it, somehow. At least once.

And it’s worth it, to see Harry beam, to see how he lights up at the compliment. “Yeah, well.” He stands back up, still beaming, and takes a careful step closer to Zayn, avoiding puddles. Zayn doesn’t quite look up at him, can’t entirely bring himself to. “Do you know your eyes sparkle in the snow?”

“Harry?” That’s—that’s not something mates say, not even Zayn’s mates, who seem to make it a point to talk about how good-looking he is a weird amount. He has to look at Harry. Harry’s face is open, a little shocked, like he hadn’t meant to say it, and—fuck, he shouldn’t let this make him hope, shouldn’t be thinking how maybe…

“Just saying.” Harry shrugs, but Zayn knows him better than that. Knows it’s not as careless as he’s trying to make it out to be. “You’ve got a pretty pout.”

Zayn tries to make his breath not catch. “Babe…”

“What are you two doing?” Zayn jumps, and Harry startles backwards. Liam’s standing at the doorway, looking at them with a concerned look on. “Are you freezing? Want cocoa? We made some, snow made it seem right.”

“I told you to bring a hat,” Louis adds, over Liam’s shoulder.

“You did not!” Zayn shouts back, as Harry takes another step back. They had been close, that means. Harry had noticed it. “And it’s okay. Harry and his weird ass umbrella saved me.”

“My umbrella’s not weird!” Harry protests, laughing as Zayn makes a face at him. He’s got those dimples again, and his eyes are shining like he’d said Zayn did, and…. A few months, Zayn thinks, as he heads to the kitchen with Harry on his heels. A few months, then it will just be them and the LA sun.


	45. Chapter 45

_**Prompt: "If you keep looking at me like that, we wont make it to a bed"** _

The house looks the same as it did the last time Harry had seen it. A small house–the most he’d been able to afford, though he’d told Harry about his dreams of bigger things. But neat and pretty, with a big yard and an honest-to-god picket fence, which had freaked Harry out when he’d first seen it. That fence had been the last thing he’d seen when he’d driven away, that symbol of everything Harry couldn’t deal with. “I’m not made for a picket fence,” he’d said, and Zayn had nodded, his face set and drawn. He hadn’t asked Harry to stay, hadn’t begged, not Harry’s proud Zayn; Harry’s still not sure if he’s glad of that.

The curtains aren’t drawn over the big glass windows. It’s so Zayn Harry could laugh–how many times had he yelled at him for that? That at night, anyone could see in like that? Zayn had shrugged. “What are they going to see?” he’d asked, and Harry had had to show him, pressing him into the couch and kissing him until they couldn’t breathe and if anyone was watching from outside, they’d have gotten quite a show.

But now it’s quiet inside. Now, it’s dark, and Harry thinks he might be able to make out the shape of a dog, but no Zayn. He’d still know Zayn. It’s only been a year, that’s not long enough to forget the shape of him, the shape Harry had memorized with hands and lips and laughter. He’d know if Zayn was in there. Knowing what he’d do if Zayn was there is harder. What is he supposed to say, after a year? After Harry’d ran, seeking adventure and fleeing the forever Zayn had in his eyes and his smile, the way Harry knew if he didn’t leave he never would. I’m back? How’ve you been? How’s your mum? Have you forgotten the first night I came over, when you made me an amazing dinner and I couldn’t keep my eyes off you as you cooked, couldn’t stop imagining those hands on me? How you turned and smiled and me and told me, “If you keep looking at me that way, we won’t make it to a bed,” and we didn’t? How you smiled at me after, like I was the most important thing in the world? How would you look at me now?

This is stupid, is Harry’s conclusion. He shouldn’t have come. It’s been a year since Harry left Zayn, since Harry left a love he hasn’t been able to find the equal of for all his travels, Zayn’s probably over him. Probably done with him. Done with the boy who left him behind.

Still, Harry finds himself picked up his phone. There’s no point going in. Zayn is out somewhere, not sitting home on a Friday night. Not staring at the house where he used to live. But Harry can–he should say something, at least. Give himself closure.

Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t hide his number, before he calls. Maybe he’s an asshole. Maybe he doesn’t want to know if Zayn would refuse to pick up, if he knew who it was.

It doesn’t matter anyway. The call rings out, like Harry should have known it would. Zayn never did pick up his phone.

He stares at the house, then sighs, and dials another number. He won’t go back to his hotel not having tried everything.

The phone rings. Harry can see the handset inside light up as it rings. He’d made so much fun of Zayn for that, because it was 2016 and who had a landline anymore? And why did Zayn need two phones to ignore? Zayn had laughed, but he’d kept the phone. He was that sort of person. He kept things until he didn’t. And Harry had always thought there was something about him thinking the landline made a home, a place where the household could be reached. He’d made Harry record an answering machine message when he’d moved in, made Harry add his name to the recording. That had been the first time Harry had balked. it hadn’t been the last.

The phone rings, and rings, then it clicks over to that answering machine. Harry closes his eyes, despite the darkness of his car. It makes it easier, somehow, to hear Zayn’s voice. “Um, hi. This is Zayn, I must have missed your call. If you’re a telemarketer, take me off your list, I’m not buying. If you’re anyone else, I’ll call you back when I get this message.” Harry chokes out a laugh. No he won’t. Harry knows Zayn, knows he won’t. Knows he has to try anyway.

But Zayn’s not done. “And, um. If this is Harry…” Harry’s eyes fly open. “I still love you.”

The line clicks. Harry can’t find any voice to leave a message. He’d–he’d heard that. Zayn’s voice, the way it always drew out his name, left it a little unfinished like he didn’t want it to end.

Maybe he’d just recorded it right after Harry left. That made more sense. He’d made that when Harry left, and then hadn’t changed it again. It’s the only solution. The only thing that makes sense, because it’s been a year, and Zayn’s a sap but not a year’s worth. He hadn’t loved Harry that much.

Harry hangs up, and drives away. This was stupid. He’d known it. A stupid hope, that he hadn’t ruined everything like he knew he had.

And yet, the next night, he finds himself looking at his phone again, this time from his mom’s spare room. He just wants to hear Zayn’s voice again, he reasons. One more time, before he leaves and leaves all this behind again. One more time.

Zayn still doesn’t pick up the phone, and the answering machine turns on. “Hi, this is Zayn. Um, if this is a telemarketer, take me off your list, I’m not buying. If this is Louis, go away, I’m at the lake already so stop nagging me and filling up this inbox. If this is anyone else, I’ll call you when I get back on Monday. And, um. If this is Harry, I still love you.”

Harry can’t breathe. It’s different. He’d rerecorded that same message, since yesterday, and it’s still there. Still that declaration, shouted into the void.

He inhales, exhales. “Hey, Zayn.” He says, into the machine. “It’s, um. It’s Harry. I’ve looked all around the world, and now I’m back, because it turns out what I wanted was here all along. So, call me back?” He leaves his number, then takes a deep breath. He can do this. Zayn deserves this. “And, um. I still love you.”


	46. Chapter 46

**_Prompt: "You’re the only one I trust to do this.”_ **

Harry’s been ignoring Zayn, more or less pointedly, since Zayn had walked into the party. He wasn’t gong to be the one to leave, to concede the ground, but he wasn’t going to be the one to talk to Zayn either. Zayn had had his chance to talk, and he hadn’t want to then; Harry’s not going to legitimize him by talking to him now. These were his friends first, anyway, this set of LA young celebrities; Zayn doesn’t get to take them away.

Luckily, there were enough people there that they could circle each other and not interact, even if Harry knows people are watching them, waiting. Wanting the blow up. But Harry isn’t going to start it, and he thinks Zayn’s finally learned not to as well.

It doesn’t mean that he isn’t watching Zayn, though. He’s good at that–watching Zayn out of the corner of his eye, when no one would notice. When Zayn wouldn’t. And he looks good–maybe better than he had before he left. He’s filled out more, looks healthier. The buzzcut does great things for his eyes, his cheekbones. He’s got muscles he didn’t have before, not that Harry’s noticing that. Just that he looks good. It feels like losing a break up, noticing that.

“So, shooting’s starting soon?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I’ll be heading back to–”

A scream cuts through the air. Harry turns, and–Zayn’s on the ground, a girl next to him with her hands over her face, and Zayn’s leg is twisted under him at an unnatural angle and his face is suddenly tight with pain and Harry’s moving before he thinks about it. He’s so mad at Zayn. So very mad at him, and he’s next to him in an instant, kneeling on the ground and grabbing his hand.

“Zayn–”

“Think it’s broken,” Zayn grits out. His teeth are clenched, in that look he gets when he’s trying not to cry.

“He needs to get to a hospital.” Harry’s not going to freak out. He’s not.

“I’ll get his car,” someone says, and that’s as much attention as Harry pays them, turning back to Zayn. His eyes are squeezed shut, but it’s better to look at that then the twist of his leg. He’s not supposed to get hurt. Harry’s supposed to be able to hate him in peace, not have him white-faced and in pain on the ground.

“Harry–”

“Don’t.” Harry smooths a hand over his hair. Over his head. Like he used to, when Zayn had a headache. “It’s okay.”

“The car’s out front,” someone else says.

“Help me get him up.” Harry slides an arm under Zayn’s shoulder. “Come on, babe, we got to get you up to the car.”

Zayn nods. Another man comes to his other side, and together they level Zayn upright. Harry thinks he winces as much as Zayn as they limp out from the back of the house, towards the sweeping driveway, like every step puts him in excruciating pain. Maybe they should have made some sort of litter. Maybe Harry shouldn’t be noticing how they still fit together, pressed close like this.

Finally, they make it to the car. The driver pulls open the back door, looking worried–Zayn’s always inspired loyalty. Harry’s still here, after all.

“Thanks,” Zayn tells the other man, who nods.

“Hope it’s all right, bro,” he says, then turns back towards the party. Harry should go too. He knows that. But… “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you.” Zayn swallows. He needs to get to a hospital. Needs to get that fixed. “I know you’re mad. I know you hate me. But, like. I don’t want–” he pauses, but Harry knows what comes next. Knows how much Zayn hates hospitals. “No one else is here, I can’t–”

Harry’s sliding into the car before he thinks. Zayn’s always made him stupid. “Yeah. I’ll come.” The driver shuts the door behind them.

Zayn’s smile is wan, which is pretty understandable. “Thanks.” He turns, and there’s a few centimeters of space between them, just enough to feel unnatural and pointed. “I just–hospitals, you know.”

“Yeah.” The space feels like it stretches on for miles, like the whole backseat is covered in pain and distance. The car starts, pulling forward, and Zayn bites off a moan as it jolts his leg.

Screw this. Harry reaches out, tugs Zayn closer, so his arm can wrap around Zayn. Zayn’s always been a physical person, needed touch to comfort him; Harry’s not going to not give him that.

Zayn lets out a relieved sigh, turns his face into Harry’s neck. “Just–pretend you don’t hate me for a few hours?” he mumbles, and Harry shuts his eyes. There’s so much pain in that statement, and Harry doesn’t think all of it is from the leg. “Please? I–you’re the only one I trust to do this.”

“Yeah.” Harry runs his hand down Zayn’s arm. Now that the crisis is mostly over, he’s starting to shake too, for it to sink in. He’s in a car with Zayn. This is the first time they’ve spoken in a year. And Zayn’s cuddled close, telling him he still trusts him, even though he knows Harry hates him. Harry did hate him. He does. He’s so mad. But Zayn’s in pain. “Don’t worry, Zayn. I’ve got you.”


	47. Chapter 47

_**Prompt: "Tell me a secret.”** _

“Okay. Okay. Harry, truth or dare?” Louis asks, and somehow that one sentence seems funny enough that Harry starts giggling. That sets everyone else off, and it’s a full minute before Louis manages to call order again. “Styles. Truth or dare?”

“Um. Dare.”

“Oooooh,” Niall cheers, and then there’s laughter again. Harry lets it wash over him, warm and welcoming. This is a great way to spend a Friday night, as good as any party–in his basement with the other boys sprawled around him, Niall on his own bean bag, Louis and Liam on one couch, and Harry and Zayn on the other. Harry’s only a little influenced by the fact that Zayn’s feet are pressing against his calves; that he is perfectly angled to watch Zayn laugh. It’s not why this is great. It’s just a bonus.

“Bold move, Styles,” Zayn teases, and Harry sticks out his tongue. Zayn sticks his own tongue out back, slow and lazy like he gets when he’s high, and Harry doesn’t have a choice but to lean over to push it back into Zayn’s mouth. He’s too drunk to do it well, but Zayn’s tongue is wet on his fingers, and he’s laughing before Harry can finish.

“Dare. Dare!” Louis calls, clearly put out they aren’t paying enough attention to him. “Harry. Um. Tell me a secret.”

“Should he whisper it?” Liam asks, his brow furrowing a bit as he tries to parse the question. “What kind of secret?”

“A big secret,” Louis announces. From the way Liam jumps, Harry expects he’s been kicked. “And no, say it out loud. No whispering here.”

Harry nods. That’s a fair dare. It makes sense to him. He casts around for a secret. He’s not really a secret person, especially not with these boys.

“Hurry up,” Louis orders. “Haven’t got all day.”

“Where are you planning to go?” Zayn retorts. Harry smiles at him. He’s so wonderful. Defending Harry. Lying on the couch looking like that, his hair messy, the blonde streak he’d added on a whim a few days ago a sudden shock against his forehead, his mouth open just a bit like closing it’s too hard, his eyes big and dark. So hot. Harry thinks he could stare at him for hours if that wouldn’t be weird.

“Harry,” Niall prompts, and Harry nods.

“I think Zayn’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.” There. That’s a good secret.

Zayn’s eyes go even bigger, and he rubs his neck, but Louis scoffs. “That’s a shit secret. We all know that.”

“I’m gonna blush,” Zayn drawls, but he is looking at his hands like maybe he will actually blush.

“Hey,” Harry whines. It’s a good secret. He thinks if he were more sober he’d hate himself for saying it, with Zayn right there. And now Zayn’s looking at him like he’s never seen him before, like maybe if he was less high he’d be freaking out, and Harry laughs because it’s a funny expression and it’s easier to do that than to have his own freak out. “Why is it shit?”

“Because we all know it.”

“It is a secret!” Harry protests. “I’ve never said it before.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not written all over your face.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Who here didn’t know that Harry thought that?”

Harry looks around. Niall’s hand is still wrapped around his can of beer. Liam’s pointedly sitting on his. The only one with their hand tentatively up is…

“You didn’t?” Harry asks Zayn, pouting. He doesn’t want that. Zayn should get compliments all the time.

Zayn lets his hand fall back down to his lap. “No? Like, not really.”

“See!” Harry turns to poke his finger triumphantly at Louis. “It was a secret!”

“Only from Zayn,” Louis retorts, but Harry’s won this one.

“Still a secret.”

“Not a good one.”

“Liam!” Niall breaks in, because he doesn’t like fights. “Truth or dare?”

Harry’s distracted from Liam’s answer by Zayn’s foot pressing harder against his leg. When he looks at Zayn, Zayn’s got an incredulous little smile on. It’s very cute. Maybe Harry should add cute to that secret. Zayn is the prettiest and the cutest person he’s ever seen. Then he’d have to keep adding adjectives though, and that could get long. “That, like, really?”

“Of course.” It falls easily off his tongue. Maybe he’ll be embarrassed in the morning.

“Oh.” Zayn ducks his head again. Harry sort of wants to kiss that smile away. It’s probably good he didn’t use that secret. “Um, like. Thanks.”

“Just telling the truth.” Harry pats Zayn’s leg, then Louis’s yelling something about a foul and watching him sputter from the ground where Liam pushed him is much more important. Harry can think about the other secrets in the morning.


	48. Chapter 48

_**Prompt: "You need to wake up because I can't do this without you"** _

Zayn feels like he just got to asleep when there’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

He groans, and tries to roll over. He’s so tired. “Zayn!” There’s crying in the background, loud wailing.

“No.” Zayn mumbles, and tries to bury his head farther into the pillow.

“Zayn!” Harry’s voice is a little tearful, a little panicked. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

Zayn thinks he’s inextricably programmed to react to desperation in Harry’s voice. He opens his eyes. Harry’s right there, and it’s a lot to take in, this close, this tired. “Wha?” he asks, which is pretty intelligible for when the fuck ever in the morning.

“She won’t stop crying.” Harry straightens. He’s at least holding Clara right, cradling her against him, but her little red face is screwed up and she’s screaming loudly enough Zayn’s surprised he managed to sleep through it. “I don’t know how to make her stop crying Zayn, she won’t and I can’t sleep and you need to help, please.”

Zayn sighs, and levers himself up. Harry’s guest bedroom is comfortable, even if it’s not as good as his own house, but he’d been here too late last night to go home. Not much could get him out of bed. But Harry in need will always be one of those things. “Give her here.” He holds out his arms, and Harry willingly hands his daughter over. Zayn cuddles her close, ignoring the tears. “What’s wrong, babe?” he murmurs, starting to rock back and forth. “What are you trying to tell us?”

“She woke up crying. I tried changing her, I tried burping her, I tried feeding her, I don’t know–”

“Shush.” Zayn hums, still calm. He leads the way past Harry, down the hall to the room Harry had repurposed into the nursery. “Your scaring your father,” he tells Clara, in the same even, soothing voice. Her screams have turned into choked sobs, probably now that she’s not being held but someone freaking out. “Let’s not do that, okay? He’s still learning, you have to be nice.”

“I’m not–”

“Are you hungry, babe? Is that what it is?” Zayn asks her, and takes the bottle Harry shoves at him. He’s gotten good at preparing the bottle. He is good at this stuff, even if he doesn’t believe it usually. “Let’s see.”

She quiets to suck on the teat of the bottle, and Zayn hums his satisfaction. She’s a beautiful baby–of course, with Harry’s genes–with big eyes and round cheeks. As charming as her father already, though you wouldn’t know it at ass o'clock when she’s waking him up. Though that, Zayn reflects, is not unlike her father either. And like her father, he can’t find it in him to be mad at her for it. Not when she blinks her big eyes at him.

“How’d you do that?” Harry demands, leaning in next to him. “She wouldn’t take it when it was with me.”

Zayn shrugs as best he can while still rocking her. “Just decided to now. You were hungry, weren’t you?” he asks Clara, as she finishes, her mouth releasing. “Are you ready to go back to sleep now?” She smiles up at him, and Zayn thinks he can already see dimples forming.

Zayn leans over, to set her down in her crib, but the instant he does she starts screaming again. “Zayn!” Harry yells too. The Styles’s have two very good sets of lungs; Zayn picks her back up. He knows about the idea of letting babies cry, but he’s never been able to.

“Okay, not like that. Do you want to hear a song? Is that it?” She’s stopped crying, which he takes as a yes. So he starts to sing, the silly nonsense lullabies his grandmother had used to sing to him, the Urdu easy on his tongue. He can feel Harry watching him, but his attention is on Clara, how she yawns, and stops fussing, and finally falls asleep, her chubby hands falling open.

“There we go, there’s a girl,” Zayn murmurs, and sets her down gently in her cot. “Let’s sleep for a few more hours, yeah?” She squrims a little, but stays asleep.

“I don’t know how you do it.” Zayn nearly jumps. Harry’s pressed closer than he’d realized, leaning over his shoulder to look at his daughter. Somewhere along the way, Zayn had forgotten that neither of them had bothered to put on shirts, but now he’s very aware of their bare skins. “She wouldn’t even start to sleep with me.”

“You get nervous. She can sense it.” Zayn gives her one more look, then slips out from against Harry, so he can leave the nursery. Harry follows him, carefully flipping off the light. “You’re fine with her.”

“Not as good as you are. I really can’t do it without you.” Harry gives Zayn his most intent, sincere look, and Zayn swallows. That’s what he’s wanted to hear from Harry for so long, if not in this context. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when I start touring. You aren’t–”

“I’m not going on tour with you.” Zayn has some boundaries. He has to. Here in LA, he can justify it, can justify staying at Harry’s most nights to babysit or just help, because he’ll never be able to say no to Harry or now his daughter, but he can’t justify going on tour with him. Not when Zayn has a life and career here, that he needs to attend to. At least now he gets to the studio enough. “You can get a nanny.”

“But no nanny will be you.” Harry pushes his hair out of his face, gives Zayn a smile with dimples just like his daughter’s. “We need you, not someone else.” There it is again. Right words, wrong context.

“You’ll get the hang of it by then.” Zayn yawns. Maybe he can get a few more hours of sleep in before she wakes up again. He hasn’t been this exhausted since One Direction tour. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Yeah.” Harry opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it again, so Zayn heads down the hall towards his room. He’s nearly there when Harry calls after him. “Zayn?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. This is so far above and beyond friendship.”

Zayn takes a deep breath. Sometimes Harry’s obliviousness is so astounding Zayn has to wonder if it’s put on and he knows. “Of course, babe.” He throws a smile over his shoulder, softer than it should be, at the look of Harry in the hall outside his daughter’s room, soft and messy and well, a father. “Anything for you.”

He just wonders if Harry knows how much that means.


	49. Chapter 49

_**Prompt: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” (Parts[1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215342), [2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215450), [3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7567285/chapters/17215564))** _  

“You need to stay wide,” Zayn says. He’s wrapping Harry’s hands mainly on instinct; his hands have done it a thousand times which is good because his mind isn’t there. His mind is on the ring, where Harry will be standing soon. “You’ve got a longer reach, use it. He can’t hit you if he can’t reach you.”

“I know that.” Harry laughs. He’s humoring Zayn. He’s not the kid who followed Zayn around begging for advice, not really. He’s good. He always was good. He’s going to be better. But Zayn still has to talk, to give his unneeded advice. Needs to say something. “Anything else?”

“Don’t get cocky. He’s good.” Zayn finishes Harry’s left hand, picks up his right. His hands are warm in Zayn’s. The knuckles are scarred, like all of theirs are, and there’s no softness to those hands anymore. He doesn’t need advice. He doesn’t need any of this.

“But being cocky’s half the fun.” Harry teases, then grins when Zayn doesn’t laugh. “Come on, Zayn. It’s just a match. I’ve fought dozens. You’ve fought more. What are you so afraid of?”

He’s so bright. He shines in the locker room, even this hospital-clean one, without any of the grit Zayn loves despite himself. So bright, and still so young in so many ways. Zayn hasn’t gone into a fight feeling like that in years. Maybe he never did. He’s never been that bright, though he supposes he was once that young.

“Zayn?” Harry asks, and he raises his left hand so the wrappings brush against Zayn’s cheek. Gentle. Always gentle. That’s Harry, gentle and bright. Zayn’s hands are rough from fighting. From struggling. “Zayn, what are you afraid of?”

Zayn looks at his hand instead of his face, wrapping it mechanically. I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified, he thinks. I’m terrified you’re going to notice I’m just a broken boxer on my way out of the spotlight you’re coming into. I’m terrified you’ll realize you don’t need me anymore, and then you’ll leave. I’m terrified because I never meant to fall in love with you, because it could distract me, and then I’ll lose. I’m terrified that it could be that you are better than me after all.

But he doesn’t say any of that, he just shakes his head. “Just scared I’ll have to watch you cry if you lose,” he jokes, and finishes off Harry’s hand. He lets it drop, then he stands up, stretches. He’s fighting later, he can’t be distracted like this. “Don’t want to have to deal with that again.”

“You won’t.” Harry gets up too, but he catches Zayn’s arm, doesn’t let him get far. “I’m going to win.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, sure. It’s so different from how Zayn fights. Zayn fights with need and fire, not this easy confidence. It works, he knows it does–he’s seen evidence of it–but it’s nothing Zayn can really access. “I am.” He leans down, but instead of kissing him he just rests their foreheads together. “Aren’t I?”

His voice is smaller. Worried. Zayn can’t help his smile. “Yeah. You’re the best, Harry. You’ll beat him.”

“Not the best.” Harry’s smiling again. Good. He needs to go into a fight smiling. “You still beat me.”

“Got to keep you humble.”

“You do that.” Zayn can’t even interpret the look in Harry’s eyes at that, something raw and needy. Zayn’s only seen the look when he’s looking at Zayn before, and he doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t understand what Harry wants, in that look. “Zayn, I–” he cuts himself off, shaking his head.

“What?” Zayn rests his own hand on Harry’s cheek, brushes an errant curl away. That look’s still there.

“Nothing.” A wry, almost mirthless smile. “I’ll tell you if I win.” He shakes his head again. “Kiss for luck?”

Zayn steps away. Some things he still knows. “Only once you win,” he tells Harry, and Harry laughs, loud and bright.


	50. Chapter 50

_**Prompt: “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” ; “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”** _

Zayn’s back hits the wall first, then Harry’s pressing him against it, their bodies pressed tightly together. “This pushy enough for you?” Harry breathes, and Zayn can’t help his moan, not when Harry’s grinding against him, when his voice is low and rough and dangerous and he’s got that look on, the one that makes it clear he wants to devour every inch of Zayn.

“Hm?” Zayn gets out, as his hands scrape up Harry’s back. He shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t be doing this. He and Harry should be talking. They need to talk. This isn’t the first thing they should be doing after over a year of not talking. And they really shouldn’t be doing this in the loo at some party they both ended up at, when people are probably going to miss them outside.

“You said to push you up against the wall,” Harry murmurs, and then his lips are on Zayn’s, and he still can’t think when they’re kissing like this, like years of waiting, like so much time lost. Harry breaks away, his lips trailing down Zayn’s neck. “Just following instructions.” He bites harder than he should at Zayn’s collarbone, and Zayn moans again, his head falling back against the wall. He shouldn’t let Harry do this. He should be standing firmer. He should do something other then grinding harder against Harry, scrape his hands down Harry’s back to his ass.

“Like my music?” Zayn gets out, then he pushes at Harry, and so they slam back into the other wall of the bathroom. It’s a nice bathroom, nicely appointed with just enough bare room on the wall that nothing digs into anyone’s back. It’s still filthy, in a way that thrills Zayn, that he knows thrills Harry. “You been listening to it?”

“Just some.” Harry’s hands are sliding up his shirt now, and he’s mumbling as he kisses Zayn again, hard and deep, like they both like. “Just my favorites. Like…” he trails off, or maybe he says something, but Zayn’s a little distracted by the way he twists at Zayn’s nipple, the low sound he makes when Zayn drags him closer so their cocks can rub against each other through their jeans.

“Hm?”

Harry surfaces. His hair’s messy from Zayn’s hands, his lips slick and satisfied, though he isn’t smiling. He hasn’t smiled, not since he walked in the door and saw Zayn, since they said hello then they were here and Harry’s got that tone no one can resist. “I said. Take It Off.”

“If you insist.” Zayn strips his shirt off. “Now you.” He starts to sing, because maybe he’s an asshole. “Take it off, take it off, baby just take it–”

“Shut up.” Harry kisses him again to stop him, harsher this time. But Zayn’s got his hands on the buttons of his shirt now, and Harry lets go of him long enough for Zayn to discard it, tossing it onto the floor. He doesn’t care how expensive it was, Harry can buy himself a new one a thousand times over.

Zayn finally pulls away from Harry’s lips. “I want to watch you–”

“Shut up,” Harry repeats, then they’re back with Zayn against the wall, and Harry’s not being gentle at all, how he shoves at Zayn, how he bites at his skin and thrusts his cock against Zayn. “Don’t fucking talk.”

“Then what should I do with my mouth?” Zayn retorts, because he’s not going to let Harry do this. To make him just some guy Harry’s fucking. He’s not letting Harry close his eyes on this one. “Should I–” He cuts himself off on a groan, because Harry’s somehow got his jeans open and a hand around his cock. He’s got such good hands. Zayn always thought he would, those long calloused fingers.

“Better.” Then Harry’s on his knees, and Zayn doesn’t think he’s losing time but it feels somehow like he is, with Harry kneeling in front of him, a hand on Zayn’s hips and the other still stroking Zayn. Harry looks up at him once, and there’s still that viciousness in his eyes, like this is some sort of punishment, though Zayn’s not sure for who. “You don’t get to talk.”

“You’re the one who’s been freezing me out.”

“Do you want to argue when my mouth’s near your dick?” Harry retorts, which is a pretty solid point. “You don’t talk.”

“Not even to moan your name?”

Something else flashes through Harry’s eyes, something lighter. “That you’ll do,” he tells Zayn, and then he’s licking up Zayn’s dick before he can reply.

Zayn’s breath catches in his throat. Harry’s vicious with his tongue too, like he’s trying to kill Zayn through blow job, which wouldn’t be the worst way to go. The bass outside thrums in his veins and adds to the unrealness of the whole thing, getting sucked off by Harry in a party bathroom after a year of not speaking. He looks the same on his knees as he had three years ago, when he’d do it as a tease, as a stage gimmick. His hair falls into his eyes and Zayn would gather it back for him but he’s pretty sure that wouldn’t be welcomed, not like this. Instead he fists his hands into his thighs, tries to keep himself from giving in to Harry too easily.

He does end up moaning Harry’s name after all, as he comes, as Harry relentlessly and ruthlessly takes him apart until Zayn’s glad the wall is at his back to keep him up.

Harry nods to himself, like he’s satisfied, but he’s still not smiling as he gets up. The bulge in his jeans is obscene–it’s not like it’s the first time Zayn’s seen Harry hard in his jeans, but it’s different knowing it got there because of sucking Zayn’s dick.

This time Zayn doesn’t bother talking. He just gets a hand on Harry and jerks him off hard and fast like the rest of it, one hand on his dick the other on Harry’s neck, his nails digging into Harry’s skin. Harry fucks into Zayn’s hand, hard and desperate, and Zayn grabs his head to kiss him messily, as Harry comes over his hand. There’s something vulnerable about watching Harry come, swallowing his groan and watching the pleasure course through his face. it’s the most Zayn’s gotten tonight, seeing that.

Zayn barely waits until he can see Harry’s come back to himself before he asks, “Am I allowed to talk now?”

“No.” Harry’s jaw is set. His lips are wet and swollen, and he looks well fucked, but solemn. Definitely not happy.

“So what other favorites do you have?” Zayn says anyway. Talking makes the moment less surreal. The bass is still thumping away outside. Real life is still thumping away outside. “Because I’m liking your take on TiO.”

“Don’t.” Harry closes his eyes. But it’s been over a year, and Zayn finally has him in a closed place.

“So no pillowtalk? We’re good at fighting. Bet we’d be good at fucking.”

“Zayn.”

“How about Fool For You? You know you want to fuck to a Beatles-inspired song Harry, don’t lie, I know all your dirty Lennon-McCartney threesome fantasies.” It does what Zayn expected–a smile hints at the corners of Harry’s mouth, and Zayn could cheer. At fucking last. Good to know fucking him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you just crack a smile for me?”

Harry’s lips twitch again. “Shut up,” he says again, but it’s less harsh.

“Alternate universe, I expect.” Zayn goes on. He’s rambling, but the longer he does, the longer Harry stays here. “Has to be. I know it couldn’t happen in this universe.”

“I liked Golden.” Zayn stops talking, at that. “Speaking of alternate universes.”

“Oh.” That’s harder than Take It Off, then any of the other ones. That’s not sex. It’s not blame. It’s just love. “Good.”

Harry turns to Zayn, bites his lip but looks right at him. “It was golden, wasn’t it?”

Zayn nods. And then, because he can, because who knows if he’ll get another chance, maybe because he’s sex stupid–“It could be again.”

He can see Harry swallow, and then he steps back, away from Zayn. The smile’s faded from his lips, but so has that viciousness he used dragging Zayn in here. It doesn’t feel quite so much like a punishment anymore. “Maybe it could.”


	51. Chapter 51

_**Prompt: Cinderella AU** _

  * Cinder-Zayn doesn’t really want to go to the ball; he’s more convinced to by Niall his fairy godfather. he’d really be chill just staying home and not having to work. But apparently he’s supposed to go, and it sounds pretty sick. There’s supposed to be some cool paintings in the castle, maybe he’ll see those.
  * Prince Harry doesn’t really want to throw a ball, either. He doesn’t see how he’s really supposed to connect to anyone at a ball, because he won’t have time to dance, and how’s he supposed to know who he wants to marry after one night? It’s so old-fashioned, he tells his best friend Duke Liam. He needs to know a person before he wants to marry them, probably. He thinks. He doesn’t really think he wants to get married, anyway. 
  * It’s not so much love at first sight as it is ‘he looks like he’s more interesting than other people I’ll go talk to him.’ It’s only after Zayn’s refused to dance with Harry, after Harry takes that gratefully as an excuse to sit with him and talk for a few minutes, that Harry’s decided he’s marrying this boy or no one, because he’s beautiful and the way he talks about his pet mice is lovely and he gives Harry a look like he’s ridiculous when he tells one of his, admittedly, more ridiculous stories. Zayn’s less sure about the marriage bit, but it’s fun, and he’s definitely laughed more than he has in ages, since his father died. 
  * Zayn forgets to leave anything behind when he leaves. Niall has to plant the gold belt, laughing about how he’s the most high maintenance fairy godson he’s ever had. 
  * The first year as a prince is really hard for Zayn. he’s a commoner, his skin’s the wrong color. The nobles hate him for taking a place they think should have gone to one of theirs; the commoners think he’s getting above his station. Sometimes he wishes he was back in the cinders, because at least then he had his mice and he knew what he was doing. that feeling doesn’t usually last long past Harry finding him in the library, or his studio, or their bedroom, and assuring him that no matter what Harry loves him and knows he deserves to be here, but it’s still hard. Eventually he gets used to it, though, learns how he’s supposed to temper Harry and how to deal with the nobles and how to convince the peasants he doesn’t think too highly of himself. He still wishes, sometimes, that Harry had been a well-to-do merchant, instead of a prince. But as long as he has Harry, he’s happy. 




	52. Chapter 52

_**Prompt:** _ _**college roommates AU** _

1) They work together surprisingly well–surprising to themselves as well as everyone else. Once they get over the initial hurdles and negotiate some compromises (Zayn either smokes outside or out the window. Harry does his morning yoga clothed and makes his smoothie in the kitchen down the hall), they actually coexist pretty well. They’re friends–not best friends, maybe, but friends, and they invite each other to parties if they’re free and sometimes stay in and make each other watch their favorite movies and have an understanding that all sexiling must be forewarned and it’s good. It’s coexisting. It’s simple. 

2) It gets complicated for Harry when Zayn comes stumbling in high one evening. He’s a cuddly drunk, Harry knows that already, but he’s a touchy high, apparently, collapsing next to Harry on his bed and pawing at Harry’s face, tracing the lines of his jaw, his cheek, his nose, his eyes. Harry lets him, because it feels nice, and because he’s never one to say no to being admired, when a fit boy’s babbling about how pretty he is, and that would all be good–if Harry hadn’t looked down, and seen Zayn gazing up at him, his eyes bloodshot but so big and pretty and with that one freckle in them, and his lips a little pursed like asking for a kiss, because apparently once Harry thought for even a second about kissing Zayn, he couldn’t stop. 

2) There isn’t a moment it gets complicated for Zayn. He falls into whatever they have softly, easily, and no one’s surprised because like his mum said, he falls in love at the drop of a hat. Of course he’d fall in love with the boy he’s been living with, who smiles so prettily and wakes him up gently and drags him out to weird parties Zayn often ends up enjoying but also never minds when Zayn stays in for days at a time, just curls up next to him in bed to watch him draw. Zayn falls in love easily, but because of that he knows how to deal with unrequited love. He’ll get over it, he thinks. He knows. Except…it doesn’t always seem unrequited. 

3) Zayn declares he’s moving out after a year of living together. Harry tries to pretend he’s not heartbroken, but he is. He doesn’t get it. They live so well together, and sometimes Zayn looks at him like he’s thinking about kissing Harry too, and Harry doesn’t want to live with anyone else, he wants to live with Zayn. He doesn’t talk to Zayn for a full two days after Zayn signs up for the lottery with Louis, just pouts and looks away, and steals hurt looks because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He talks very loudly about how awesome living with Niall’s going to be next year, when he doesn’t have to smell smoke everywhere. 

4) Zayn asks Harry out literally the second they’ve officially moved out of the dorms–Zayn to the apartment he’s renting for the summer while he works, Harry to his parent’s for a while. Harry puts his last things in the car, they go together to hand in their keys, and then Zayn grabs Harry’s hand and asks him to dinner. Harry…doesn’t know how to process it. But you don’t date your roommate, Zayn explains, over dinner that night, their feet pressed together over the table and Zayn’s fingers intertwined with Harry. So, Zayn decided to fix that. Harry thinks Zayn should have told him, it would have saved him a lot of heart ache. but still. He’ll take this. 

5) they don’t actually end up getting a lot of use out of their separate rooms.  


	53. Chapter 53

_**Prompt: rich kids AU** _

1) Harry’s old, old money. Like, so old it probably came from peasants sort of money. He’s never known anything else. It’s spoiled him sweet, mainly, except when he just has zero conception of how much money is worth at all. 

2) Zayn’s money is new, money his dad made in the tech boom. It makes him more defensive about his place at the private school, among all the old whitebread money. Quick to anger, quick to need to prove himself. Harry’s the first to become his friend, though, because he never asked him to prove himself at all. 

3) They don’t hook up with each other. They both fuck around with other people in their friend group, because they’re bored and rich and it’s what they do, but even though they’re touchy and flirt plenty, they’ve never gone farther than a quick kiss on the cheek. If asked, Harry would grin and say Zayn couldn’t handle him, and Zayn would shrug and say something about how Harry’s too high maintenance for him. The truth’s a lot more complicated for both of them. 

4) They spend a lot of time on Harry’s family yacht. Which means, really, Harry spends a lot of time lounging around on the deck in tiny yellow shorts sucking on a red popsicle that makes his lips even redder, and Zayn spends a lot of time pretending like he doesn’t notice. Harry just considers it proper payback for having to spend all day with Zayn lying around in his shorts looking a bit like a god. 

5) One evening at a party, Harry gets really, really smashed. Usually one or both of them is drunk, and they either crash at the host’s or call a cab, but this time is notable in 2 ways: first, that Zayn’s less drunk than Harry, and second, that Harry is drunk enough to try to kiss Zayn, despite everything he’s always known about messing up their friendship and how he wouldn’t be satisfied with just hooking up. So he crowds Zayn against a wall, uses all his moves on him–and Zayn pushes him away, then leaves. They don’t talk about it. Zayn doesn’t even know if Harry remembers. 

6) Somehow, the confrontation all goes down on the yacht. Maybe there’s another party, and Harry’s flirting with someone else when he sees Zayn glaring at them, then sees him get up and go out onto the deck. Somehow, it ends in them yelling at each other, at Harry demanding what Zayn’s problem is, he doesn’t get to be jealous, he could have hooked up with Harry if he wanted, and Zayn yelling back about how he didn’t want it like that. It ends up in them making out against the railing until Zayn gets too nervous they’re going to fall in, when they relocate to Harry’s cabin, where they aren’t going to fall off the silk sheets. 

7) Harry wakes up first, with Zayn’s arm flung over his chest and their feet tangled. It’s not the first time they’ve woken up like this after a party, but it’s the first time they’ve woken up like this naked. And Harry, looking at Zayn asleep, maybe knows what Zayn meant, when he said he didn’t want it like it was. He doesn’t think he wants anyone else to share this. he doesn’t want this to be one of the many things he doesn’t care about because he doesn’t have to. He thinks he could work on this. And when Zayn wakes up too, smiles sleepily at Harry before he remembers anything else, Harry’s pretty sure he agrees.  


	54. Chapter 54

_**Prompt:** _ _**domestic AU with handful, adorable twins and a fluffy pet dog** _

1) Harry is on morning duty. Zayn will never like mornings, and they’ve figured out that if Harry wakes up and walks the dog, maybe gets the kids up, so Zayn can get that extra bit of time to wake up, everyone’s happier. In return, Zayn’s the one who makes the twins’ lunch in the evening for the next day, and he does the evening walk. It works. 

2) The dog is a result of a lot of bargaining, because if left unchecked Zayn will take home every animal he ever sees. Harry managed to get him down to one dog, with the promise of more once the twins are older. Now that the twins are in school, Zayn’s started to give the dogs on the street, or cats at friend’s homes, meaningful looks. It’s not that Harry doesn’t want more pets, he just worries about having time to care for them. Harry sometimes wonders if this is what Zayn felt like when Harry was trying to convince him they were ready for kids. 

3) Harry is the strict parent. He has a lot of ideas about diet and bedtimes and stuff like that, where Zayn’s much more go with the flow. Harry sometimes resents it, because it makes Zayn the cool parent, but Zayn does try usually to uphold his rules, and he knows the twins love him just as well as they love baba. 

4) The twins both color all over both Zayn and Harry’s arms. They’ve both gotten one of each kid’s drawings properly tattooed. 

5) They have family dinner once a week. The other days are sometimes up in the air, because Zayn or Harry could work late or one of the kids could have an activity or they could just all be too busy, but every Sunday they all sit down for family dinner, and sometimes Zayn and Harry meet gazes amid the twins’ chatter and sometimes food throwing and the dog trying to steal food off their plates, and they both know they’d never have their lives any other way. 


	55. Chapter 55

_**Prompt: Taking a bath together (from the[Not Your Baby ‘Verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/400180)) ** _

“What’s this?” 

“This is a bath.” Zayn points at the bathtub. It’s a nice bath. He’s not a particular expert on baths, but Claire loves them and has gone on a one woman crusade to get everyone to take baths, so he’s taken a few. A man doesn’t grow up with sisters without learning some shit about bath bombs and candles and shit. “I know you might not be familiar with it, but–”

“I know what a bath is,” Harry interrupts. He’s leaning against the door to the bathroom of Zayn’s apartment, his arms folded over his chest. Zayn’s pretty sure it’s a deliberate attack against him, because Harry’s arms look really good folded like that, even when he’s a little paler than usual and clearly exhausted. “I’m just confused about what it has to do with me.” 

“It’s for you.” Zayn keeps going before Harry can make the protest baths are girly, or wherever he plans to go with the skeptical look he’s giving Zayn and the bathtub. “You’ve been stressed. This is relaxing.” He nods at the bath, which is shimmering a nice blue. “There’s not glitter, you should thank me for that.” 

“So you’re ordering me to relax.” Harry runs a hand through his hair again. “That’s what you’re doing?” 

Zayn lets out a low breath that might be more of a growl. He’s trying to do a nice thing. Be a good boyfriend, or whatever. It’s not his fault Harry’s masculinity is too fragile to handle a bath. “If you’re saying no to me being wet and naked with you–”

“I never said that.” As Zayn thought, that gets Harry into the room, the door closing behind him. His shirt’s off almost as fast, and it derails Zayn’s argument for a second, as he admires that. When he gets back on track, Harry’s smirking. “Though I don’t think you naked relaxes me, exactly.” 

“Whatever gets you in the bath.” Zayn strips off his own shirt, then his pants go slower, teasing a little under Harry’s hot gaze. Once he’s naked, he slides into the bath, letting out a little hiss as the water hits, then a longer moan as the heat starts to sink into his muscles. 

“Having fun in there?” Harry asks. He’s still got his pants on, but he’s definitely looking more interested in the bath now. 

Zayn stretches back, so his hair almost goes under. “It’s relaxing.” He lifts his arms out of the water, careful not to drip. “Come on. The LSATs are driving you crazy. Get in the bath.” 

Harry’s lips twitch, but the smirk softens a little. “Whatever you say, baby.” 

Zayn waits until his pants are off and he’s stepping into the water before he replies. “Not your baby,” he tells Harry, and tugs him down so he’s sitting in front of Zayn, between his legs. Harry’s exasperated snort is cut off when Zayn runs his hands over Harry’s back, up his shoulders, then down his chest, so he can press against Harry’s back. “Relaxed yet?” 

Harry laughs, low and deep in his chest, but Zayn can feel him leaning back into Zayn. “Getting there.” 


	56. Chapter 56

_**Prompt: Magic Mike AU** _

1) Harry never meant to be a stripper, exactly. He wanted to be an actor, and he kind of is, but he likes stripping, too. Likes how women look at him, and how he makes them happy, and how it pays the bills. He’s good at it, and it’s fine. That’s what he needs, until something bigger comes along. 

2) He didn’t expect the something bigger to be a road trip with the guys, but then Liam had come back from his carpentry business and Harry got most of his anger out about that, which really cleared his aura, and then they were crashing Niall’s froyo truck and then they were at Rome’s, which was just, a whole new vibe. Harry’s always liked the thought of himself as a healer, it’s why he did the whole reiki thing, but he’s never thought of it like that. Not until Zayn said it. Zayn, with his crooning voice and the way the girl had melted at his song, who said they were both healers. Who told Harry he should sing, and who got him to totally change up his routine. He didn’t expect the something bigger to be someone like Zayn, but if that is what the universe has given him, Harry will take it. 

3) Zayn thinks Rome’s kind of insane at first, offering to help Liam and his crew. She’s big time, and they’re all pretty, and he’s gotten good at gauging talent and he’ll admit Liam’s got moves, but he still thinks she’s better than that. Sure, Harry, their Ken doll, is pretty chill, totally gets what Zayn means about healing and shit, but still. Rome laughs when he says that, ruffles his hair, and tells him he’ll get why someday. 

4) He gets it when he sees Harry dance for real, he thinks. Maybe not. Maybe that’s not what he’s supposed to get. But he sees Harry dance and his throat goes dry. He’s seen a lot of strippers in his day, but there’s something to Harry–a sincerity, an honesty–that he hasn’t seen before, and it’s real, even as Zayn knows Harry’s making every one of the women here feel that way too. He has to clear his throat before he sings, focuses on the women, on the routine Louis’s starting, even as Harry gives him an enthusiastic, hopeful grin from the pile of women he’s buried in. 

5) Harry comes back to Rome’s after. Says there’s nothing in Florida for him, so he just sort of follows them back to Rome’s and never leaves. He’s a hit, and no one’s surprised, so no one’s in a hurry to kick him out. It’s just…the more he’s around, the more Zayn can feel himself falling, and he knows he’s not special in that so he tries not to let it matter. He falls a bit in love with everyone, after all, with every woman he sings to. He can be that in love with Harry. 

6) It doesn’t happen with a dance. Harry sort of expected it to, maybe him offering to dance for Zayn, ending up in his lap, touching more than he should. But maybe he’s not surprised it didn’t, because they’re different parts of his life. So maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that it happens after a long night of work, when they’re on the couch in the dressing room, tossing around ideas for new schticks, and Zayn looks at him in that way he has like he’s brilliant, and Harry has to kiss him, and kiss him, and never stop kissing him. 


	57. Chapter 57

_**Prompt: Superhero AU** _

1\. Harry loves his superpowers. He loves that he’s special, that he can help people. And most of all, he loves to fly, because he thinks flying makes everything worth it. There’s nothing quite like flying, like being untethered, and some days he thinks he’d just stay in the air forever, if there wasn’t anything–or anyone–tying him back to earth. 

2\. Maybe it’s that he hasn’t always had superpowers, but Zayn’s never had Harry’s easy relationship with his. Maybe it’s that he only got them later, in a lab accident, maybe it’s that there’s a big difference between flight and mind reading, but he thinks he’d give them up in an instant. He’d give up the constant pressures of people’s minds on his, trying to get in, the constant worry he’s intruding, the neverending battle he fights to find the boundaries of his own mind amid the chaos. Some days, he thinks he’d like to build up the walls of his mind so high he could never escape, and live there in the quiet forever, if there wasn’t anything–or anyone–drawing him out. 

3\. Harry takes Zayn flying sometimes. Zayn hated it at first, and he still does, clutching Harry so tightly Harry sometimes finds bruises the next day, but he gets it, too. Why Harry loves to fly. When he’s up there, floating, it’s the only place he can get quiet, just his mind and the familiar comfort of Harry’s. It’s the easiest place he can be, holding Harry up in the clouds. 

4\. Fighting takes some getting used to. They all have to train differently, to use their powers offensively, but it’s part of the job. Zayn likes that he can just put people to sleep, but sometimes he has to skate through the mind of someone to find a greater crime, and he showers for hours after that, trying to wash away the feel of it. It’s after one of those times that he curls up with Harry, lets Harry’s thoughts surround him like a warm blanket, as Harry dreams of flying and Zayn lets his imagined air wipe away the other minds. But it’s worth it, it has to be, when he foils a crime. When he returns a lost child to their parents. When he makes things better. 

5\. Harry honestly has no idea how Zayn doesn’t know how he feels about him. He’s not subtle out loud, and he knows he’s not subtle in his mind, which sometimes stutters to a stop when he sees Zayn, or gets stuck on a constant litany of how pretty he is. And even more than that, he knows he just thinks about Zayn all the time, and he has no idea how Zayn hasn’t noticed, for all his politeness about staying out of Harry’s thoughts. Or maybe he has and this is his way of ignoring it. Harry doesn’t know. he just can’t stop, and Zayn still comes to him, just to him, when he needs it, so he’ll continue like he is. 

6\. Harry disappears one day, after a fight–kidnapped by some enemy. None of their teammates have ever seen Zayn’s face like it is when he realizes it, but he’s very quiet when he goes back to their headquarters, and sits down on his bed, closes his eyes. Twenty minutes later he emerges, white-faced, and leaves. They don’t know where he goes. All they know is he comes back, bloody and bruised, with Harry in his arms, and that he makes it in the doorway before he collapses. When he wakes up, Harry’s there, and Zayn’s too tired, gave too much to keep his walls up, which is why he hears, for the first time _he has to be okay he did it for me god if he’d died saving me i’d never forgive myself wake up zayn wake up i love you so much wake up please you can’t die before I tell you I love you._  

7\. Harry’s just as beaten and bruised as Zayn, more so from the villain’s hands, but somehow all that pain goes away when Zayn opens his eyes, smiles–then before Harry can say anything, Zayn’s drawing him down for a kiss, and Harry can feel the warmth in his mind that he knows is Zayn, and it feels like _i love you too._


	58. Chapter 58

_**Prompt: Game of Thrones AU with Daenerys!Zayn and Drogo!Harry.**_  

1\. He is brave. That is the first thing Harry thinks, upon seeing the slight boy standing next to his brother, watching Harry come down the aisle to him. Before even the beauty, that the merchant had not lied about after all, Harry noticed the way his chin tilted, how he did not look away. Harry can respect that bravery. 

2\. He is gentle. That’s the thing Zayn had never dared hope for–had not hoped for since he was a babe at his mother’s knee, before the rebellion, before the Mountain had come. He’s not known gentleness for a long time, but Harry touches him gently, like he’s afraid he’ll break. But Zayn is the blood of the dragon, and though he welcomes the gentleness, he will not break. 

3\. Harry watches Zayn as his brother burns. He expects him to flinch, because for all his bravery Harry has seen how hard it is for him sometimes, with their culture and the ways it differs from his own, but he never looks away, and Harry thinks he can see fire, reflected in Zayn’s gold eyes. He’s heard stories of dragon blood, but he’s never believed until then, until he saw fire in his husband’s eyes. 

4\. Moon of my life, Harry whispers to Zayn, one night when he thinks he’s asleep. He never thought he’d come to care for the boy sold to him by his brother for trade, but he is the moon of Harry’s life. If his life is the tribe, than Zayn is the moon he guides it by. He thought Zayn was asleep, but Zayn rolls over, smiles, and traces a finger down Harry’s cheek. There are callouses on his hand now. Harry is proud of him for that. “My sun and stars,” Zayn murmurs back, and Harry believes him. 

5\. Zayn’s world stops, when Harry dies. He’d found happiness, he’d been happy with the Dothraki, with Harry and his gentleness and his odd humor. But Zayn should have known. The dragon is not meant for happiness, the dragon is meant to lead, for war. So he lifts his head, with the bravery Harry had once told him he admired, and looks at the men around him, who wait for him to break. But he is the blood of the dragon, and husband of the Khal. He will not break. 


	59. Chapter 59

_**Prompt: Sharing a dessert** _

“Seriously, you made this?” Harry blinks down at the little cake Zayn had set in front of him, on the dining room table. It looks, well, not professional, but it looks nice. It looks good. It certainly doesn’t look like anything Zayn could have made a few years ago. 

“Your faith in me is inspiring.” Zayn sits down across from Harry. His house is what Harry had half imagined it, those long years of trying not to wonder about how Zayn was doing, which means it’s not formal. Zayn likes convenience too much for that. Instead, they’re sitting in a breakfast nook, and Zayn’d just cleared the plates to a kitchen that looks functional and well-used–which is a shock on its own. “But yeah, I made it.” 

“You bake?” Harry knows he’s harping on about this, but it’s weird. He’d known Zayn, known him so well, but this is another reminder that he didn’t, and he certainly doesn’t. This isn’t that Zayn. This is a Zayn who can bake. Harry doesn’t like the reminder. Zayn’s always been unpredictable, the one wild strand in Harry’s life, and now he is even more so. 

“You don’t have the monopoly on being a baker,” Zayn points out. He’s watching Harry with that half-wary, half-excited look he’s been giving Harry since he came in. Since they met at an afterparty and got to talking, really, starting out with polite small talk and segueing into real conversation. Harry’d thought he’d be mad at Zayn forever, that Zayn would be mad at him forever–but Zayn was forever unpredictable, and here they were, having dinner to catch up. Having dinner that Zayn made, with Zayn’s big eyes reflecting the light and his smile that same mix of sharp and soft that had made Harry want to dig into him and discover what it meant. “I may not have worked in a bakery, but like, I’ve been experimenting. And I thought that–it’s almost your birthday, yeah? Figured I could make a cake, or something.” 

“You didn’t have to,” Harry demurs, but he lets his head drop a little, so Zayn can’t see his expression. There’s always been something about Zayn that stripped all his defenses away, like Zayn’s neverending search for authenticity made Harry want to get closer to that ideal too. “It’s not for another week.” 

“I didn’t forget everything, I do know that.” A foot taps against Harry’s ankle, and he looks up. Zayn’s got his lips pressed together, a wrinkle on his forehead. “Don’t worry, I’m not angling for an invite to your birthday party or anything.” 

“Zayn.” It comes out on a sigh, for the sharpness of Zayn’s comment. “That was unnecessary.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Just eat the damn cake, Styles.” 

“Fine.” Harry cuts off a piece, puts it in his mouth. The chocolate explodes, wet and thick, and he thinks there are hints of raspberry there too. It’s a little too sweet, but it’s good. It’s really good. It’s Harry’s favorite flavor. 

He chews for a little longer, just to be an asshole, and then swallows. Zayn’s watching him still. 

“How is it?” Zayn demands. 

Harry cuts off another piece, holds it out to Zayn. “Try it yourself.” 

“Harry.” 

“Zayn,” Harry repeats, and circles the fork. “Try it.” Zayn makes an exasperated face, but he opens his mouth, and lets Harry feed the cake to him. 

Watching Zayn lick the chocolate off his lips is something else new, Harry thinks. Or maybe it isn’t. 

“Do you think it’s good?” Zayn asks, when he’s swallowed. “Or is it–it’s a lot, I know. I just…” He sighs, but his expression is set like he gets when he’s going to say or do something and fuck the consequences. “I miss you, okay? I want this to work.” 

Harry sets down his fork, reaches out to put his hand over Zayn’s where it lies on the table. The taste of the cake Zayn made him is still in his mouth, like a promise–like new things and old things mixed together. “It’s good, Zayn.” Zayn’s hand is warm under his, and when Zayn looks at him from under his eyelashes the pang Harry feels is old and new and unpredictable and complicated and so very simple too. “And I want this to work too.” 


	60. Chapter 60

_**Prompt:** _ **_Zarry reconciling on an episode of the Kardashians_ **

“Zayn, I need you to behave.”

Zayn blinks. It feels like a non sequiter, when he’d been busy refusing all of Gigi’s coaxing to actually get him out of the lodge and onto skis. He supposes she could be mad about him making a scene, but the lodge was loud and he didn’t think their argument–not even argument, really–had registered at all. Though sometimes Gigi was even more paranoid about that sort of shit than he was.

Still, he can’t see what she means, so he just smirks, steps closer to her. He’s in his boots and she’s in flats before she gets into her ski boots, so they’re almost the same height. “Thought you liked it when I misbehaved.”

She rolls her eyes, but he thinks she’s charmed. She’s smiling a little, at least. Though she’s always smiling. Maybe she is annoyed, he can’t tell.

“Seriously.” Her hand’s on his face now, holding his cheek like she does when she wants him to pay attention to her. Someday, Zayn would like to do some sort of study about why everyone feels the need to touch his face constantly, but he’s not complaining. He likes it from Gigi, the casual intimacy. He’s missed that sort of physicality from everyone around him, these days. “Don’t be mad, and don’t make a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene.” Zayn tries to be even, but it probably comes off as sullen. “I just don’t want to ski, I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’ll hang out here and–”

“Not about that,” Gigi cuts him off, and turns his head to the side.

He sees the cameras first, video equipment with a group of brunette hair at the center coming up the stairs to the main floor of the lodge. It’s not hard to recognize. He’s lived at the center of documentary crews enough. “Why would I be mad Kendall’s here?” He can just avoid the cameras, it’s fine. He’s not going to stop Gigi from hanging out with her best friend.

“Not her,” Gigi mutters, and she sounds worried. Gigi’s not worried often, takes everything with a laugh in a way that’s reassuringly casual even if it makes Zayn wonder just what about their relationship she’s taking with a laugh, so Zayn’s already tense when he looks closer. “I didn’t know he was coming until this morning, but we can’t leave so you have to behave.”

Zayn recognizes what she’s implying just as two other things happen at once–a few cameras swing over to him and Gigi, catching what probably looks like a romantic embrace, and the sea of brunettes differentiates itself into separate faces, one of which Zayn can’t help but recognize.

“Seriously?” he hisses to Gigi, who shrugs. He knows she thinks everything fucked up between him and the boys is silly and petty, but she doesn’t get it. Instead, she tightens her hold on his wrist, so he can’t storm away like he’d like. The media already thinks he’s a fucked up, rude asshole, that can’t be worse. Or they can edit him out of the fucking episode.

“Behave,” she repeats, and Zayn jerks his hand away. He’s not an idiot. What does she think he’s going to do, get into a fist fight with Harry? Like Harry would do that. Louis, maybe, but Zayn’s honestly not sure Harry’s angry enough for that. And anyway, he wouldn’t. He hasn’t even seen Zayn yet, talking to Kendall as Gigi leads Zayn closer and more cameras turn.

He’s cut his hair. Zayn’s still only got a profile of him, but it’s enough for the stark difference to hit–Zayn’s never seen him with hair this short. It makes him look like a different person, more the boy Zayn had known when they were starting out than the man who Zayn supposes he’d known at the end. It looks weird. So much of Harry for Zayn is his hair, whether it’s Harry shaking it out to hide his embarrassment, or Zayn running his fingers through it on the quiet nights that were just theirs before those stopped, or Harry twisting it between his fingers when he wanted to divert attention somewhere. Zayn wonders who his Delilah was.

Other than that, his profile is the same. It’s only been about two years, after all. No real time to change. He’s still Harry. Still the Harry Zayn knew so well and not at all.

“Kendall!” Gigi yells, letting go of Zayn to throw herself at her friend. Kendall and Harry both turn from their conversation, suddenly noticing them. Kendall laughs as Gigi glomps onto her, but Harry’s frozen, looking at Zayn.

Zayn raises his eyebrows back. He knows Harry. Harry might think he’s inscrutable, that he’s perfected his cheeky unpredictability, but Zayn knows Harry inside and out, in the puffy green ski jacket he’s wearing now or barely a pair of boxers, and that just makes him look back harder at Harry, in a dare. A dare for Harry to punch him. To yell. To stop being passive aggressive in interviews and online, to pick up his damn phone and let them have it out. A dare Zayn knows Harry won’t take him up on, because he’s Harry and he wouldn’t.

Sure enough, Zayn can see the moment where Harry registers the cameras, where he decides how he’s going to react. Where whatever honest fucking reaction there was in that first moment is hidden by the knowledge of the cameras, because god forbid Harry Styles have an honest reaction in front of cameras.

“Zayn!” Harry grins, the big one he does when he doesn’t mean it, and steps forward. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Zayn considers, for a moment, playing along. Pretending they’re all good. But that’s what One Direction him might have done. He’s not that person anymore. He’s not afraid of scenes, of telling things like they are. “That would have required actually contacting me, so yeah, I expect you didn’t.”

Harry’s gaze flicks to the cameras. But Zayn’s not Britain’s sweetheart, or whatever the fuck Harry tries to be. He’s making good television, or whatever. “Well, Kendall didn’t warn me.”

“Gigi didn’t warn me.” Zayn glances at his traitor of a girlfriend. but she’s deep in conversation with Kendall, their heads tilted together like they’re posing even for this. “So you’ve decided to talk to me, then? Won’t make your paperwork more difficult?”

He’s being an asshole, he knows, but he doesn’t really care. And Harry deserves it. Deserves it, and like always around Harry Zayn just needs to prod. To poke at him until he can get an honest fucking reaction out of him. Louis’d told him it was hopeless, once–‘he’s turned into an alien, don’t even try to understand it’–but Zayn’d never quite been able to stop. And Louis was good at giving up on people, he’d learned.

It gets a bit of a reaction, Harry’s jaw tightening. “Zayn,” he says calmly, but his voice is pitched low, under the microphones. “There are cameras.”

“You care about cameras?” Zayn drawls. He keeps his voice quiet too, though. He’s not an idiot. They’re in public. “Never would have guessed.”

“Like you don’t,” Harry snaps back, and Zayn smirks. There. There it is.

It’s gone in a second, though, Harry pulling his anger back. “So, how are your family? Are they doing well?”

Maybe Zayn will punch Harry. It’s sounding more and more attractive. “They’re doing well. As you’d know if you hadn’t cut me out. If you’d answered my calls.”

“Call.”

“What?”

Harry’s eyes are narrowed now, and he turns slightly, so it’ll be harder for the cameras to focus on him. It puts his back to some stairs down to the lower mezzanine, which with the steepness of the stairs Zayn guesses functions as like his back to a wall. He always did know how to play the cameras.

“Call.” Harry’s voice is flat, almost casual. “You called me once. You called Niall five times, Liam four, I don’t even know how many times you called Louis. I got one call. After you’d called everyone else at least twice.”

“You wouldn’t have picked up.” Probably wouldn’t have even before Zayn left. Zayn hadn’t bothered when he knew the outcome.

“Good to know.” Harry picks up his hand like he’s going to play with his hair, then lets it fall. His lips are thin when he smiles. “Glad you decided that. For me.”

“Like you cared.” Zayn knows his voice is rising, but he can’t care. “Liam told me about how you reacted. What was it you said, that really maybe this would give you better publicity for the last push–”

“it did! That didn’t mean–”

“You didn’t fucking care about me leaving.” Zayn’s always known it. He knows Harry too well. And he doesn’t give a fuck about the cameras anymore, or about Gigi and how she’s glaring at him for making the scene she hadn’t wanted. “You cared I was messing up your careful plans about going solo and stealing your first to go solo thunder!”

“Like you cared either!” Harry snaps back, his eyes narrowing. It’s something at least. “You–” he gestures with his hand, and Zayn sees it like in slow motion–Harry’s hand moves. It moves the rest of his body. In true Harry fashion, it throws him off balance. With his heavy ski boots on, the balance goes even more off, and he tips backwards, the panic registering slowly in his eyes about the long fall down.

Zayn grabs him by the front of his jacket, hauls him forward until he’s back on solid ground, almost on top of Zayn with his momentum.

“Watch out!” Zayn snaps. His heart’s beating faster, like he was the one tipping down stairs. “Are you ever going to stop trying to get yourself killed!” The cameras are definitely focused on them now. Zayn really doesn’t care. He still sees Harry windmilling on top of the stairs, and his hands are on Harry’s shoulders, his sides. He doesn’t get to touch Harry like this anymore but he has to make sure. “Do you really think you can control gravity? How are you supposed to ski safely if you can’t even stay on your bloody feet right now–what?” he demands. Harry’s staring at him, and there’s something more in that look than just the residual scare of the fall.

“Nothing. It’s just. Nice to know you care.” Harry shakes his head, like he used to do with his hair when he was feeling more than he wanted to show.  

Zayn’s hands are on his hips, Zayn suddenly notices. It’s not like it’s something that used to feel out of place, which must be why he didn’t notice. He lets go, steps back. He’s not–it was instinct. Of course he cares. Harry’s the one who didn’t care. Who never really cared. “I don’t want you dead,” he mutters. He can feel everyone looking at him, the whole lodge staring, and he just–wants them to stop looking. Wants to be far away from all these fucking cameras.

“Zayn.” Harry’s hand is on his face, his thumb rough on Zayn’s cheekbone. It’s not quite how Gigi had touched him earlier. Not quite how anyone but Harry has ever touched him. Not quite like even Harry had touched him, at the end when everything was splintering. Zayn can’t help but look up. Harry’s always been able to do that to him, however fucking annoying he was. He can’t help but look into Harry’s face, into that knowing smile like he knows Zayn as well as Zayn knows him. “I did care. Maybe not like, as loudly as Louis, but i cared about more than how you fucked up my solo plans.” He makes a bit of a face. “I’m mad at you for myself, too.”

It shouldn’t be comforting. Shouldn’t make Zayn feel better. But it does. “Your hair is weird,” he offers back, and Harry laughs, his dimples deep. His real laugh, even though Zayn knows the cameras are still on them–that this is probably going to be in the next episode. Or not. Harry’s probably somehow got lawyers on it already.

“You betrayed the long hair squad first,” Harry protests. His hand’s still on Zayn’s face. It doesn’t feel out of place there, though Zayn knows it should.

“So are we good here?” Gigi throws her arms around Zayn’s waist, hooks herself into his side. Zayn jumps. He’d forgotten how much the world could disappear around Harry. “Is Zayn behaving?”

Harry’s hand drops, and he shifts away from Zayn as he smiles at Gigi–they’ve met before, Zayn knows, before him. The smile’s his camera smile now though, the one that always has a hint of consideration in it, of Harry thinking about how he’ll be perceived, though Zayn’d bet Gig won’t know the difference. People who don’t know Harry like he does never do. “Zayn’s never been great at behaving,” he replies, and Gigi laughs, kisses Zayn’s cheek.

“Don’t I know it.” She squeezes Zayn’s waist, and Zayn put his arms over hers. Harry’s looking at how they’re connected, and Zayn wishes he understood what that meant.

“Well.” Kendall’s there too, her hand on Harry’s arm. She’s giving them and the cameras a considering eye. “I think we all know who’s going to be my mom’s favorite child tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Liked these? Want to discuss or see more as they're posted? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr](http://zaynandhisboys.tumblr.com/) or go to the full archive at [ my drabble blog](http://stormdirection.tumblr.com/)!


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